The Darlin' Series
by Fasnacht
Summary: The Rest of the Darlin' Series will be posted here, instead of as individual one shots. It's best to think of them as a series of one shots told from Darrell's POV. Start with Darlin' Dear. Darrell gets cake, finds mud, wishes he was a crab, and hopes to die.
1. Chapter 1

**The rest of the Darlin' Series will be posted here, just because they're easier to find all in one place, and I don't want to make it hard on you. **

Darrell hated history. He hated history, because he never had one growing up. When other kids brought in haluski and hot dish for heritage day, he was always left out, standing on the sidelines, claiming the copout answer of being "American" which in his young mind, was like being nothing, because everyone in the room was American, except for maybe Rachel and Ryan, but they hadn't been around growing up. Everyone was American and something else, or some type of American, like the Native American kids could claim. Well, growing up where he did, some of the kids got rightfully angry, saying the only real Americans were people who'd lived there long before Columbus, or whoever discovered America was. Darrell thought it was maybe John Smith? Wasn't there some kid movie that had some guy who looked like Brad Pitt discovering America?

He didn't know. Kids could be cruel. But he did know that some of the teachers had insisted he must have been lying about not knowing anything about his family history. It had been a horrible experience, growing up. That's why he hated his notebook. It was a green mead notebook, hidden in his Physics book, simply because the thing was huge, and the only time he ever used it was to prop open his bedroom door, which had this habit of closing at random moments with a loud bang. He was convinced the house was haunted. Even his house had more of past than he did.

Right, so he hated his notebook. It told him that the key to understanding Sam and Jake's relationship was understanding their past, something he really knew very little about. He scowled at his notebook. A page with a short list danced in front of his eyes, like Stewie and Gene Kelley on _Family Guy_. Seth McFarlane had to have been high when they came up with that sequence, or at least coming off a bad trip. That's how Darrell felt, looking down at the chart in front of him. He felt sick.

Jake Loves Sam

1,764 Points

Sam Loves Jake

954

He also hated his point system. For the last three weeks, he'd been assigning points to each of them when he saw something that expressed their emotion for each other. He couldn't believe that Jake was the clear winner, with a lead of 810 points. At first, he thought maybe his ranking scale was flawed, but no way of tweaking it could change the horrible realization that had hit him in the middle of British Literature.

He had discovered that, while Jake thought Sam was all that and a side of fries, Sam didn't agree. To Sam, Jake was more like Sonic french fries, a pale imitation of McDonalds ones. To put it plainly, his notebook told him that Jake loved Sam more than Sam loved Jake. It was totally clear, and made his stomach hurt. How was he to tell his best friend that the person he considered to be his best friend didn't care about him like he did? But he had to do it. The bro code demanded it of him, just like it demanded that he follow all 160 edicts to the best of his ability. He was fine with number 72, (Never admit he liked to listen to Bette Midler) or number 116 (A Bro will always watch a movie narrated by Morgan Freeman, no matter what else is on). Normally, he thought the bro code was a little douche-y, now that punks were screaming "Come at me bro!" in the mall, but there were some facets that were just ingrained in a man, like knowing how to use the urinals in public and holding doors for chicks, even ugly ones. At the mall, all he ever had to do was raise an eyebrow, and the so called bros ran away. It was great. But number 3 was killing him. Just killing him, in the sort of way that he was still alive to feel himself dying, sort of like a lobster in a pot of hot water that could crawl up a bit, but not enough to escape the vapors of steam that would mean his death, and some fancy person's dinner.

He hated everything. He needed to make a list of the things he hated so he could categorize his hate. He took a pencil, for a preliminary list, and wrote:

List of things I Hate

Haluski

Sonic

Bro Code

Just as he was about to add another item, there was a knock at the door, which had slammed shut because he was using the physics book to encase his notebook. Not even Newton could help him. There was a knock at his bedroom door. "Darrell, your grandmother will be here soon..."

He nodded, unblinking and said, "I'm going to Three Ponies." He wanted to get away. He did not like his mother's mother, who was known mostly to him in the stories his mother told of a privileged but naive childhood, a rude awakening in her teens, and months of planning and intimidation as she' d tried to get away. She could not get away from everything. His cousins and grandmother would occasionally come up to visit, once his father's family had forgotten about him. His mother flat out refused to let him go to Vegas. They would come here, or they wouldn't see him.

"Darrell..." His mother wrung her hands as he slid the notebook inside the book and rose to cross his bedroom.

He kissed his mother's cheek. "He's fixing the side wall of the barn. Some of the stones went, I'm helping, Ma..."

She waved him off, and with her permission, he bounded over to Three Ponies. Jake was in a pretty decent mood, for a guy who was covered in cement and dirt and dust. They worked in relative silence, until Darrell spoke as they finished the small area Jake had begun working on earlier in the morning. "So. Do you want to meet my Nonna?"

"What's a Nonna?" Jake asked. Darrell nearly laughed. His friend stressed the "No" like the end in know, when actually it was a bit more like "Noh." It was close, but still, Jake's pronunciation grated at his ears, as it sounded a bit like Wynona. Wynona was a pretty cool singer, especially as part of The Judds, not as epic as Bette Midler, but who was really? Except maybe Eric Clapton, before the whole Candle in the Wind thing. Nope, Bette Midler still won. Darrell wondered if Clapton had really done what people said he did, and wondered if Mac could help him do it. He knew you needed a buddy for stuff like that, and he knew that even the bro code wouldn't cover that for Jake to help him. But Mac had always been kind to him, and he knew the old guy would have his back, like he did that one time he was putting up a basketball hoop at his house when he was younger. How Mac had known to show up, he'd never discovered, and the old man had never said. Wait, he recalled quickly that Mac didn't believe in a literal devil, so that was probably out. Dang, he'd have to go see his Nonna. He didn't even think selling his soul would get him out of it.

"My grandmother." He noticed Jake's look, and continued, "Yes, I have a grandmother." She was practically the only family he had, well, her and Aunt Mary Sarah. Darrell didn't much like his Nonna. She was a little bit like Sophia Petrillo, only meaner, and if she didn't like you, she' d kill you, not make snide remarks about your sex life. Oh, not that she'd do it, literally. Nonna never did anything strenuous, it was Botox and judgement that kept her thin, like a crypt keeper or a really ugly, old Snooki, after the crazy weight loss scheme and a few decades of collagen loss she tried hard to combat with makeup and crisp linen shirts. Nonna was classier than Snooki's truck stop style, favoring Dior and Chanel, but she'd have you wacked if you crossed her. Her one soft spot, hard as it was, was her two daughters, whom she'd buffered against her husband's wrath for their mistake of not being born male.

Jake was speaking, "cancel...Sam'll understand." His friend was wiping his hands on his jeans, and packing up the tools.

"Cancel?" Darrell asked. "Bring her with us." Darrell wasn't going to turn down a chance to get them together. This might actually work out super. He could avoid his grandmother, and hopefully, she would avoid him if he had friends there. This, too, would give him time to warm up to the idea of talking to Jake. It had to be done, and maybe he could borrow some of his grandmother's attitude to do it.

Darrell grew more agitated as all three of them made their way to his tiny house in Alkali. He saw suddenly, how awkward this was. Not even his best friend knew about his past. He hadn't even known about his family history until about six months ago. Oh, he'd had hints, over the years, but he hadn't put them together. He had acted a bit like a fool, ignoring his memories, the hints his mother had been unable to hide. One day, when he was twelve, he'd brought home the _Godfather _and his mother had burned it, burned it and screamed at him Italian. She'd said, "It's all lies! Don't get sucked in, you hear me? I nearly died to get you away, and God as my witness, we won't go back. God as my witness, I'll kill you first." He had laughed in her face, even as he struggled to translate her words, with all the bravado of a kid who'd never heard his mother yell before, and told her it was just a movie. What did his father have to do with a movie, anyway? The man had died in a car accident. She had shook as she had said that it was all lies, and there was nothing glamorous about it. He'd said, "How would you know? You're a florist!" She had paused for a moment, turned, and walked away without another word. From then on, she'd ignored anything he'd brought home about organized crime, and he'd learned to hide his interest from her.

His boots tripped on the stair, and Jake put his hand on Sam's arm to stop her from falling. Sam's hands were full of the cake plate, as he spoke. He tried to be funny. "Forgot to tell y'all... My Nonna might seem a bit crazy." Crazy wasn't the word for it, but there was no time to explain as he mother opened the door.

Sam, once they were safely inside, passed his mother the cake plate, with a soft, "Hey, Carrie." That was another lie. His mother buried her past, her secrets, on the day she'd stood as a nineteen year old widow on the side of his father's grave. She'd done her duty to her husband, and she decided she would do no more. She'd told Darrell, when everything came out, that her duty was to her son. She cut her hair with kitchen scissors, tossed out her Dior for jeans and a T-shirt, packed up her son and bolted under the cover of deep night, the lights of Vegas fading in the distance. Carolina Maria Luchelli became Carrie Lucas under the night sky. Her wedding ring was tossed on the highway as she sang Ba Ba Black Sheep to her young son. It glittered, like the tears she never shed. She told Darrell she'd never forgotten seeing it glint in the rearview mirror.

Today, though, his mother's smile was wide. "Hi, Samantha. You didn't have to bring anything."

Sam replied, "Gram's been teaching me to bake. I hope it came out okay." Her foot shuffled along the floor, in a sheepish way. Jake, who was right behind her, fixed her with a bolstering look. If only Darrell had someone to do that for him. But there was no time for self pity, he had to steel his spine. He could hear the crypt keeper coming. Her shoes sounded like Mr. Waternoose from _Monsters, Inc._ even as her voice sounded more like Roz. Roz, though, had a soft underbelly that his Nonna lacked.

She entered the room, her soft grey dress and pink sweater contrasting with her deep blue eyes. Darrell's heart was beating in his ears as he performed the introductions. "Nonna, these are some friends of mine, Sam Forester and Jake Ely."

Nonna's gaze fell on Sam and Darrell nearly felt sorry for her, in the way someone might feel bad for an ant under a magnifying glass. He had no way of warning her of what was coming her way. He didn't though, because Nonna turned to him and gazed over his outfit, loose jeans with workbooks and a T-shirt that proclaimed his love for the NYPD, spoke to him in Italian. "Peter, get yourself upstairs and change your clothes. Tuck in your shirt, put on some shoes, comb your hair." She continued in English, "Now, what are your names?"

"I'm Sam Forester, Ma'am. He's Jake Ely."

"What's your name, dear?" Oh, God. There was the fake polite voice.

Sam replied. "Samantha."

There came the tone again. "And your middle name, Samantha?" He knew what she was getting at. She refused to call anyone by a name she didn't like, often using their middle names instead. It was just one of the million ways his grandmother told the world that she was better than everyone, and she did as she pleased. It was just like that time she'd called his mother furious, her voice staccato, because they wouldn't let her take things she needed on a airplane, and what was she to do in France without her bottle opener? She mourned for days gone by, before RICO, days Darrell was convinced, had never really existed outside of a scene in the early parts of _Goodfellas_.

"Anne." Sam answered slowly.

Nonna nodded, "Ah, the mother of Christ. I will call you Anne. You may call me Nonna." She commanded. "Come now, into the kitchen. Both of you." She turned back to Darrell, who was still standing there. "Pietro, Go." His mother nodded, softly, as though she felt his pain, and he went. She spoke chidingly, "Mama..."

He changed his clothes, and looked in the mirror, staring at his eyes, as he brushed his hair, or what there was of it. Darrell didn't remember being called Peter. His mother had never called him that, no matter what his father had insisted upon naming him. He never felt like Peter and praised the day his name was legally changed. That was his father's name, and paternal grandfather's name, and so on back several generations. He was Darrell, and for the first few years of his life in Darton County, life was idilic, even if his mother did check the doors and windows in each room before bedtime. She changed their phone number three times, and they'd gone on vacation twice when she'd suspected they'd have what she called visitors. Darrell never knew it was strange to decide to go on vacation at three in the morning for no reason other than his mother felt like it. Then again, those crazy road trips had been fun. He had learned all about the best music, riding in the car with his mom. He loved car rides, probably because of what they used to mean for him.

He could not dwell on his thoughts, as the bro code demanded he rescue Jake from the more evil than Plankton Nonna. He bounded down the stairs, two at a time, just to piss her off, and came into the tiny dining room to hear Nonna say. "Shall we eat?"

The meal was silent, oppressive, until Nonna spoke again. "So, Jacob. My daughter tells me you and my grandson are good friends."

"Yes, ma'am." Jake replied.

"And you are also friends with Miss Forester, Pietro?" Nonna asked in that horrible way of hers. Jesus. She was asking if Sam was his girlfriend, or worse yet, if he was... Oh, that thought was not something he wanted to think with Jake in the room. It was rude, not to mention deadly. And it violated his own morals, not to mention the bro code.

"She's more Jake's friend than mine." Darrell left no room for doubt. If Nonna thought they were dating, there would be no end to her questions, or his misery. When she got on a line of questioning, she was like that game he sometimes played, guess the animal, or whatever when they fired yes no questions at you until they were guessed it correctly. But instead of asking, "Was it green?" She asked other questions, ones designed to trap, and make you feel as though you had been caught in a lie so you would be forced to grovel and repent, as though she were some kind of superior being, and you were lucky to be breathing in her presence. It always ended in the way she wanted, with her initial suppositions being proved correct. Nonna was never wrong, just like the customer was always right.

Sam frowned, "That's not true." She sounded hurt, when all Darrell was trying to do was keep her out of his family drama. She probably thought she was helping him, making him seem like he had friends or whatever. Jake was looking at him sharply, with a questioning gaze.

Nonna looked victorious. "Oh?"

Darrell sighed, seeing no way out of this that didn't end with either his body being scattered across the desert, or Jake's boots kicking his skull in. Wait, he didn't think they did that anymore. Knowing who his father was, they'd probably be merciful and cut out his tongue or something. You know, let him live, but make life miserable. It seemed to be his grandmother's mission.

His mom dived in knowing where her mother was headed, "They grew up together. They're close."

Nonna looked crafty. "So, how do you kids say it in English? They're..friends with benefits, then?" Darrell nearly groaned. Did she think they were stupid? The woman had grown up in Brooklyn, gone to some of the best convent schools of the city, and she fumbled over a term like she was fresh off the boat? No dice.

Sam blushed, "No, Mrs.."

"Nonna, dear."

Jake stepped in with Sam's taken aback look. She didn't want to call his Nonna, Nonna. He didn't want to either. Good for her for standing up to the old bag of bones."No. We're not."

"Are you single?" Nonna asked, looking at Sam.

"Yes..." Sam looked at her quizzically.

"My grandson Wendell is single, you know." Geez, that's what's she's after. God!

"Mama!" His mother scolded, as Darrell saw a 50 point reaction from Jake. He couldn't bear to take those points. He hadn't earned them. In fact, he felt like subtracting 50 from his own total.

Nonna shrugged, "I'm looking out for my boys, is that a crime?"

"Would that you had done that for me." Her daughter muttered.

Darrell sought to avoid a fight. "The food's great, Mom."

Sam and Jake agreed, but Nonna could not bear to not be the center of attention. She was like Porky the Pig, she had to have the last word. "Carolina, you remember Hugo? He's a friend of ours, knew your father, he was asking about you..."

Darrell didn't remember Hugo. He didn't even remember his own father, but he wasn't about to let some wiseguy get near his mama. Darrell loved his mother and he had enough of his father in him to make sure nothing more happened to her. She'd gone through enough, based on the little bit she told him. He knew what she'd said was highly edited, scrubbed of emotion and many of the facts. She had grown up in Vegas, gotten pregnant in high school, and moved up here to get away from the family as fast as she could. She had wanted more for her son than the life he would have had in Vegas. Darrell knew that she'd given up a lot to move for him. She faced a lot to get up here after high school. His father and mother had had a passionate but volatile love affair, and his father had threatened to sue for custody, in a fit of jealous rage when his mother mentioned divorce. Luckily, he'd died before that could happen.

Luckily, he'd gotten his smarts from his mother. She said, "He's no friend of mine, Mama. And my name is Carrie." His mother's tone became more polite as she turned to his friend, "How's the school search coming, Jake?"

"Fine. I've got it narrowed down to two places." He looked at Sam, "But I haven't decided fully. It depends..."

"Well, it's a big decision." Mama looked to Sam, and asked, "Where do you think he should go, Sam?"

She put down her fork. "It's Jake's choice, really."

"You know him better than anybody, honey, surely you have an opinion." His mother continued.

"No, not really. They're all good schools." She finished with a smile. Darrell knew it was fake. How could she not care? Jake looked at her like she'd just cured cancer. Darrell had had enough of this.

"Mama, we're going to go." Darrell said.

"But...the cake..." Carrie spluttered, but gazed at him with compassion.

Sam thought on her feet, Darrell supposed, as he could see the bulb flash in her eyes. "Carrie, it was great, but I really don't want to miss the baby's bath time." She probably thought she was helping him. As if he needed her. He needed her help like he needed a hole in the head. How could she be so helpful to him, and so cold to Jake?

Carrie nodded, "They're so fun at this age. Darrell would cry something fierce in the tub, though. He was grubby so often because I felt so bad about bathing him. I take it Cody likes his baths?"

Sam nodded, "Brynna says he must miss being inside her, but I think he'll be a good swimmer."

Jake snorted, "You mean like his sister?"

She glared at his friend, and Darrell would have laughed had his Nonna not been there, staring at the ease with which they interacted, even though she was just being fake. Great, now Nonna'd be thinking that his friend could get a girl and he couldn't. It's true, Jake did hold a place in Sam's life that no one else ever would, but his grandmother didn't know that. She probably thought he was an even bigger looser than Cousin Wendell.

This dinner had been totally pointless. There had been nothing of note to write in his notebook, except negative things. How could Sam say she didn't care where Jake picked to go to school? For someone who was supposed to be his friend, she was so mean. Why did she have to be so mean about it? Jake thought she was better than that, and he deserved better, even if she wasn't. He deserved her support, just like she got his.

The next two days, the better part of his grandmother's visits, were awful. He stayed out more, blasted music in his headphones and pretended that he couldn't speak or understand a word of Italian. He escaped often to Three Ponies. Jake had invited him to go riding, and he'd accepted. It seemed they'd have to talk. He really hated the bro code right now, just like he hated the smell of Vicks and the taste of candied sweet potatoes.

Darrell didn't want to have this conversation, but he had no choice. His notebook demanded it of him. His list had told him and now, riding in the vast expanse that was the desert, he had to come clean. "Jake." He looked down at his reins. "We gotta talk."

His friend's gaze snapped to his.

"Look. It's about Sam."

Jake nearly smiled, and Darrell wanted to throw up when he asked, "What'd she do now?"

"It's...what..." he swore. "It's what she doesn't do, man..."

"You're gonna have to spell it out." Jake said, as they rode along.

"She doesn't love you." He nearly whispered.

"What?" Jake looked floored.

"She doesn't..." His hands were white. "You're my best friend, Jake. You should know... She doesn't love you, like..."

"Like what?" Jake asked curiously.

Darrell spoke, "Like you care about her, Jake. And you know you do. Come on, man, you're my best friend, I'd do anything for you, and you gotta know..."

Something primal flashed in Jake's eyes, and Witch shifted slightly. "You'd do anything, except keep your hands off her, is that it?"

"Oh, God, Jake! No. No. I haven't... But..." Why would Jake think that he'd...been dating Sam? He didn't even like her right now. He'd felt badly, but he had snapped at her in the truck on the way back to River Bend. After he had, the had become quiet, and Jake had looked back and forth at them, and told Darrell to just let them both out at River Bend.

"But what?" Jake asked. Maybe they shouldn't have had this conversation privately. He could see all sorts of horrible outcomes.

Darrell looked his friend directly in the eye. It was no easy feat, but if his father could do what he did and still sleep at night, then, well, Darrell could do the right thing and be honest. "But I don't see it. All I see is...you giving, and giving, and...what do you get out of it? What do you see in her? You could be with someone who thinks you're..."

"thinks I'm the biggest Jerk on the planet, you mean?" Jake wasn't angry. It sounded like he was confused, as though no one had ever doubted Sam's regard for him before. Was it just assumed that they would always be together? Did his family and her family just throw them together? Is that why they were friends? If so, that was disgusting, and it sounded horribly arranged, not that Jake seemed to mind.

His thoughts veered, as he spoke, "Someone who cares about you just as much as you do about her..." He added, "Jake, be honest with yourself. You're so hung up on her, and I just...feel like she could take you or leave you..."

"So that's how you feel?" Jake spoke calmly and Darrell was taken aback.

"Uhm. Yeah." He finished lamely.

Jake replied as though he'd just said that he liked vanilla ice cream better than chocolate, no that he ever would, but it struck him that Jake sounded so uncaring as he simply said, "Fine."

"Fine?" Had he heard his friend wrong? Where were his thanks? When he started this mission, he thought he would be so easy to get them together, but now he saw that by giving them some distance, he was doing them a favor. One day, they'd thank him for giving them room to be their own people. As he thought about it, every story they every told about their childhoods, the other one had been right there. That wasn't right. His buddy deserved the chance to make a choice.

Jake clarified, "I don't care what you think or feel about her... but I sure as hell care about how you treat her."

"I've been nice." He defended.

Jake's gaze and voice was cutting, "You made her cry."

"I never saw that..." Darrell felt oddly contrite. Here she was, limiting his friend, and he felt bad about making her cry? No wonder cousin Wendell said he'd never cut it.

Jake began softly, "There's a lot you don't see..." He asked Witch to slow a bit, who'd gotten over her jitters as they rode along, and continued angrily, "You know what, I'm fucking done. I don't have to justify a damn thing to you." He made move to ride off.

Darrell called out, "After all these years, that's how you want to play this, man?" His voice grew venomous as he spat, "Fine, fuck you." Maybe there was a bit of the Luchelli's in him. " I came to you like a man to tell you she doesn't love you, and you stick your head in the sand like an ostrich."

"How. Do you. Know?" Jake turned his head to look at him, still atop Witch, breeze blowing the short grasses of the desert with an eerie calm.

"I know." Darrell asserted.

"You don't know jack, Darrell..." Jake corrected.

"Then you tell me, how weeks of lists and thinking don't tell me all I need to know." He tried to lessen the blow. "Maybe she liked you as a kid, but now... She's..."

Jake cut him off, "the best damn thing in my world. She always has been. You do realize, right, that I held her, the day she was born? That when she was three, and I was five, she'd cry when I left? That every time I would leave, she'd try and hug me, no matter how many times I told her she was a pest, that she became my shadow? I picked on her, and she stood by me, saw something in me. She always has. She..." Jake informed him, as though he was just realizing half the stuff he said for himself.

"How does that make any difference? That's the past. You take care of her, and she does nothing for you. She doesn't care if you go riding with Rachel, where you go, what you do. She told you where you went to school was your choice, that she wanted no part of it."

"Darrell." Jake chided, calming slightly, "She's going with me."

"What?" Well, you could just knock him over with a feather. What? How did that even work? Sam was a sophomore. And unless she was some kind of freaky genius like her friend Jen, there was no way she was going to school, unless it was like, one of those _Good Will Hunting _things or whatever. Had she been a genius all this time? It was a well known fact that genius people, like Sherlock were idiots when it came to people. Maybe she was a high functioning sociopath?

Jake clarified, "In two years. She'll go to the same school. She helped me make the list I applied to, knowing that."

"So she was saying...?" He didn't even know why that should make what she said okay? How was it okay to blow off Jake's college process like that?

Jake shook his head, looking down. "That she trusted me to make the best choice for the both of us." He looked up, exasperated, "Geez, Darrell. Do you have any idea what that's like, what we're like at all? She's there. Always there. And there doesn't have to be words between us. We don't need them, but sometimes, she tells me that...that she...doesn't know who'd she be without me, that every day is better, because I'm there. That she could do anything, with me beside her, without even realizing what's she saying. And then...I think...God, that's how I feel about her. And even after all these years, I wonder...when she'll stop following me around, dogging my heels after the horses, and I dread it. I wonder if one day, she won't be there anymore, asking me questions she knows the answers to..."

Darrell went back to his original point. None of what Jake was saying was okay. It was all in the past, anyway. "Don't you ever think it would be better to be with someone who...didn't know everything about you?"

"Why? So I could lie about my faults? And do stupid social stuff that I don't care about?" Jake became strangely sober, "Darrell, she's my best friend. Don't make me choose. I'll do it."

"You already have." Darrell sighed, "You've been ignoring me for the last few days."

"You made her cry." Jake accused, as if that justified his distant behavior.

"I just don't get it." Darrell honestly didn't understand any of this. He'd come here to show Jake, empirically, that Sam did not love him, and here he'd not even been able to get the chart from his saddle bag.

Jake must have been in a giving mood, because Darrell had never heard him spill his guts like this. "You don't get that...I can be myself with Sam. There's no mask, no facade, no fake social crap. I can relax around her. I...recharge around her, Darrell. She only asks that I'm myself, even the parts I don't like."

"My grumpy, closed off friend, reveals himself, is wholly himself, because of some girl." He muttered. Was it okay to be a bit jealous, he wondered? He wasn't gay, but he did wonder why he felt his heart being pulled, even as he knew Sam and Jake's relationship was twisted. Why couldn't Jake be that open with him?

"She's not some girl, Darrell. She's my best friend." Jake reminded.

"No, man. _I'm_ your best friend. You're in love with her." Darrell knew that he'd never talk Jake out of it, not without more information. If he could figure out what drove their relationship, things would be easier. It was almost like they'd been conditioned to care about each other, like when someone got dosed with Amortentia for so long that it became self sustaining. What if they were Pavlovian, or creepy like that Lockhart dude?

Jake shook his head. "We're friends, Darrell."

Uh huh. Yeah, right. Did he have an ocean front condo in Tucson that he could sell Darrell? Jake continued, "But if you tell anyone I told you all this, I'll..." Jake grinned, "put one through your mouth."

Darrell grinned. "One phone call, man, one phone call." He sobered as he realized what he'd said, "Jake, we okay, man?"

Jake nodded. "People think my grandfather is some crazy, old shaman from a museum because he likes to use words and keeps the old ways. You think I've got room to judge you because your dad was..."

"Don't say it!" Darrell cut him off, but he smiled in understanding, and things felt a bit better.

Jake just urged Witch forward, and the two friends flew over the desert, leaving Darrell with much to think about. His brain felt sort of spongey, overfilled, like brain spam. No wonder he thought spam was gross. One time, someone had said it looked brains, and he could never eat it again.

The next day, Darrell was hanging out at Three Ponies, waiting for Jake to show up from out riding fence, and he bumped into Quinn, who was once again, home because he couldn't figure out how to do laundry. How hard was it? Lights, darks, plop them in the machine, and watch them. Good lord, was he an idiot?

Quinn plopped into the seat across from him, digging into his pie without offering Darrell any. It appeared he'd heard that Sam, while she was speaking to Darrell, wasn't as warm and open as she had been a few days ago. Darrell spoke, "Hey."

"Hi." Quinn was short.

"Look, can I ask you something?" Here was his shot to get some unbiased information.

Quinn eyed him warily, "What?"

"Tell me about them. Why they care about each other like this..."

Quinn sighed, "Why do you care?" God, was there anyone in this family who thought that maybe, just maybe, the relationship should be able to handle a little scrutiny? They all acted like they were peanut butter and jelly, cookies and milk, ramen and cake, honestly.

"I'm trying to understand. I thought...this was great." He tried to be honest, "until I realized that Jake loves Sam more than she cares about him."

"What?" Quinn blurted, "There's no way..."

"Why, because Sam..."

He was cut off, "because Sam..." He continued, "Sam made Jake who he is."

"Uh huh."

"She did. She used to...trail him like a lost puppy, correcting him and begging him for attention. Heck, she still does it, she's just better at hiding it. She gave him a reason him to be...who he became." Quinn finished lamely. "The kids were the ones who made this family so close, you know? Aunt Lou and mom were friends, but Sam and Jake made us family."

Darrell hadn't known that. "Oh?"

Quinn continued, "Yeah, man. I mean, they used to insist on doing everything together. They even used to take dance lessons, and Sam would literally lay on the floor and scream if they tried to make her dance with anyone else. She..."

"sounds crazy." Darrell paused, "Wait, dancing?"

"Yeah. Ballroom. Aunt Lou wanted Sam to do it because Sam was so klutzy, but Sam wouldn't go without Jake. So, Jake went." Quinn shrugged as though it wasn't that odd, to think of Jake, dancing.

"To dance lessons?" His buddy could dance? Like really? Dancing? Why had he never seen them dance, then? Was Quinn having him on?

"That was nothing." Quinn snorted, on a roll. "When Jake went to scout camp with dad, Sam moped and was angry. She pulled pranks and cooked up schemes and...whatever. Then, when he got back, she clinged to him like ivy. He tried to shake her off, and when he did, she cornered him and yelled at him. This six year old girl was standing there, hands on her tiny hips, scolding him for leaving her. She made him promise that day, to never..." he thought about her wording, "to never hide from her again."

"So what are you saying?" Darrell asked warily.

"She made him who he is by pulling the best of him out, and loving even the worst of him. She refused to let him withdraw from her. She was full force, a whirlwind grabbing onto everything he was, and Jake often blew her off, even though he never quiet relaxed if he didn't know what scheme she was cooking up. And believe me, there were a lot of them. I thought maybe it was all brotherly, you know, but..." He trailed off, thinking. "I...didn't think he cared like she did, even at that age. She used to say..." He shook his head, unwilling to embarrass her in front of someone like that, and continued, "But one time, he had this friend over. They were about 12, him and this kid, or maybe 13. Well, Sam was hanging around, pestering or whatever, and the kid called her a looser and told her to get lost because she was a stupid girl."

"What happened?" Darrell knew that if that happened now, Jake would go nuts. Most people accepted them as package deal, though, so it wasn't an issue. Why did everyone think Sam and Jake just were, just supposed to be?

Quinn laughed, "Grandpa had to pull Jake off him. Broke the kid's nose. Sam yelled at him for hitting and not using his indoor voice."

"Wow." Darrell breathed.

"So yeah. Jake might..." He cleared his throat. "You might have your opinions about her, Darrell, but her love...made my brother who he is, it still does. If you care about him, then you care about her. Because, without Sam..."

"Jake wouldn't be the ass he is..." And Darrell saw that clearly. Jake, without Sam, would be some idiot, cocky, putting on a front for everyone in the world. Jake would be like...him...

Quinn shook his head, "Probably be some kind of serial killer. Look. We're not close, but I'm telling you. Cross her, even once, and you'll be dead to him."

"I don't understand it, though. How can everyone just..accept it? Why not question it?"

"You think they don't? Why do you think they're going so slowly?" Quinn asked, "Besides, isn't it pointless to question the fact that the earth spins the sun? Sure, it teaches us stuff, but at the end of the day, the facts don't change..." Quinn mused, until he grew agitated with Darrell's blank look. "Okay. Let me spell it out. He feels bad about rebuffing her all those years, so he does his best to make up for it now. He's secure in the knowledge that she cares about him, because that fact is woven into his DNA. All the things you like about him, the honesty, the perverted sense of justice, whatever, were encouraged by her very presence in his life from day one." He continued, "Her love defines him, in a way that guys like us will never understand."

Darrell didn't know how he felt about that. He knew that some people had love like that, in their lives. Tammy and George, Bert and Ernie, Sherlock and John were all prime examples. He knew that Jake would jump off a bridge if Sam said to do so. Hell, he knew he'd thrown himself into crazy situations in the past. He knew it was just a matter of time before he did so again.

He needed his notebook. He rushed back home without waiting to see Jake, and flew to his desk. Maybe...the foundation that he'd built their relationship on wasn't like other peoples. Maybe...instead of being like Steve and D.J. on _Full House, _they were more like Corey and Topanga. He suddenly got it, when his bedroom door slammed. Sam didn't need to treat Jake like he was sonic french fries, because to her, he wasn't french fries, he was the tator tots. It was still potatoes, still love, but a different kind of love, one that you didn't find at most fast food restaurants. Her love for him was so...encompassing, that it was just there. There was no before, no after, to compare it to. When you were lucky enough to find that kind of love on the menu, you ordered it, just like you could order tator tots with breakfast burritos, too.

Without knowing that he was the tator tots to her meal, without knowing their history, Sam sometimes looked a bit distant, but she wasn't. Not really. She was his walking history. He was hers. Darrell didn't understand how someone's history could impact them so much, make them who they were. How did the things Sam did at four impact Jake today? The easy answer was to say that they didn't. That was a lie. He understood it better than he could give himself credit for, he knew. Jake was running to Sam, running to his past, just like his mother had run away from hers. History defined...

A lot. Maybe it was why he was always angry at not knowing who he was, who his family was. Knowing didn't mean he wanted to enter into his father's line of work. Far from it. He knew that there were millions and millions of Italian and Italian Americans who weren't involved with the crap his father or his mother's family had been. Thousands of them spoke out against it, maybe... Maybe he could do that, too... knowing what he did of his mother's story. Still, he wondered. Why couldn't his Nonna be the nice kind, the kind who made pasta and played bridge? But...he supposed, her past had shaped her, too. Having a heritage didn't define you, but you could take bits of your past forward with you... He didn't know where he was going with this.

How did the things Sam did at four impact Jake today, he asked himself again. He wondered, even as he wrote it on the top of a page in his notebook. Based on what Quinn had told him, he could still it in the way Sam would sometimes fall in line behind Jake as though she was sneaking up on him, even though he clearly knew she was there. Sometimes, they'd be working, and she'd ask questions, sometimes, Darrell thought, just to hear Jake talk. He could see the bits of the child Jake peek through when he'd chase after her, even when he didn't want her to know that he was actually doing it, both literally and figuratively.

Yeah, he decided. Darrell hated history. He realized, now, that it could teach him a lot and give him a lot of information, if applied properly. The first step, he realized, was to man up and apply the bro code and apologize to Sam. The second, he wrote down, was to figure out how to make Sam and Jake's past work for him, them, in this matchmaking process. Maybe he could get more stories from people about them and go from there. He promised himself that he would see them dancing. There was a random formal coming up for one club or another at school, and maybe he could rope them into going. He wondered if they could do the single ladies dance, or even the cupid shuffle. Maybe he could ask Jake for a demonstration. Yeah, wouldn't that just go over like lead balloon? But maybe if he put a bug in Sam's ear...

**So yeah. I made up an entire backstory for Darrell simply because I like him so much. I've got a few pages of outline of possible back stories, and I really liked this family dynamic. Evil Grandparents are awesome to write about, but not so great to have, I think. **

**Please review. I posted ABN's update last night, but finished this up instead of doing other stuff. I hope it meets with your approval. I know it's a bit serious, but I really wanted to explore just how Sam loves Jake, and what Darrell might assume about it, as an outsider looking in. **


	2. Chapter 2

Robert De Niro saved Darrell's plans from absolute ruin. Darrell realized something his beloved, evil, notebook had been trying to tell him while watching a movie on Netflix during study hall. He'd avoided this realization like he avoided Nonna's phone calls and going to the dentist. But, unlike the phone messages he could avoid, the conclusion had been staring him in the face. Why had he used green pen? It looked like Surge soda, the gross kind that people collected the syrup for, and tried to get coke to reproduce. He'd read that people flew to Norway for the stuff in cans, and he was thinking about flying to Norway to avoid his notebook.

He knew it was crazy, but the notebook had a personality of its own. It was like the evil monkey in _Family Guy_. Half of the time, what he would discover within scared the crap out of him, and it seemed no one believed him about it. He'd not named it, so that was something, but even he had to admit that his project had garnered him brownie points with him mom. She commented that he must be working on physics, and he'd replied that, yeah, he was trying to understand how two bodies could resist gravitational pull.

At this moment, he was shuffling through the the hastily scribbled notes, all 34 pages, and the lists and charts, and finally, his observations. It was at the final observation that left him wondering how to apply it. He didn't want to apply it like a drag queen spackled on their makeup. Rather, he wanted to apply it stubbly, like his mother always insisted he never knew how to put on Axe. Well, if was supposed to attract the ladies, he had to let them smell it, right? He was planning on asking for a refund if the product didn't work like it did on the commercials.

Anyway, Darrell needed to become a method actor, like Robert De Niro. He needed to put himself in Jake's shoes. He needed to soak up his pathos, be the notebook, feel the notebook. Luckily, the chance to do that came up not ten minutes later, when Jake pulled him aside after the bell rang and said, "Man, I need a favor."

"Sure." Darrell replied, walking to his locker. "What?"

Jake looked down at the floor. "See. I've got this meet coming up this weekend." He paused, "But...there's work at River Bend."

Darrell replied, "So you want me to fill in for you?"

"Yeah." He paused, "Sam will...be...herself, so you'd just have to..." Jake trailed off.

"Trail around after her like a lost puppy dog?" Darrell asked.

Jake scowled, "Look."

"Okay, fine, sure." Darrell nodded. Darrell could have done a victory dance as Jake walked away. This was his shot to understand Sam. He could do this. He could place himself fully into the situation, and be one with the scene, understand the context fully. He could be a real life Robert De Niro, whom he was convinced was an alien because he was so awesome. His notebook would love him for it. He could be the notebook. Oh, this was grand. The halls were empty. He skipped manfully down the hallways humming MC Hammer until Mrs. Jackson called out, "Darrell Lucas! Why aren't you in class?"

He smiled widely, "Hello, Carla! It's a wonderful day, isn't it?""

"It can be." She nodded, "A wondeful one in which to get to class or get to detention."

He got to class.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The next Friday evening found him in River Bend's kitchen, going over his weekend with Jake and Mr. Forrester. Sam was mixing pie filling in a big bowl at the counter. Mr. Forester said, "Sam?"

"Yeah, Dad?" She replied, tossing more sugar into the bowl. She stirring a bowl that was sitting amid a can of oats and various other spoons and bowls.

"I'm going to be real clear about this honey. Jake's going away. That means there's a lot to do and fewer people to do it to get ready for the drive." Mr. Forester said, "And I so I know it goes without saying that you'll do all you can to help Darrell."

"Daddy," She replied, "I'm not going to get into any trouble."

"I'll hold you to your promise, Sammy." He nodded briskly and headed for parts unknown, leaving Sam, Jake, and Darrell alone in the kitchen. Darrell watched as Sam put a bit of the fruit into a tiny bowl and passed it to Jake. She asked, "What do you think?"

He ate it, chewing slowly, then nodded. "Sort of sour, Brat."

"You're going to get cavities one day" She frowned, "and I won't feel sorry."

"Not my fault you put too little sugar in the pie, Sam." Jake replied, "Now, is it?"

She frowned and added something to the bowl, back turned to them, but Jake spoke, "Brat, we gotta lay some ground rules."

She waved a hand, content to fix her bowl, "I'll keep Darrell in line."

Jake frowned, and Darrell watched as humor crossed his normally impassive face. "Brat."

"Okay, fine." She huffed, "I will do my best not to do anything you wouldn't do. Okay? Is that good enough?"

It would have to be, because Jake looked at the clock and said, "I have to make the bus."

Sam followed him and Jake out to the porch. Darrell spoke, "Now, don't worry. You just beat the other kiddies on the track, and good ol' Darrell'll make sure you come home to everything ship shape."

Jake looked to Sam, rolling his eyes towards his friend. "You gonna tell me goodbye?"

She frowned, "No."

He faltered, and she grinned. "Don't tell me you forget what to say Jake?" He looked uncertain as Sam continued, "We do this right or not at all, and I'll just stuff myself in your duffel bag."

Darrell nearly gasped at her boldness. Why was she saying that? Jake however, simply pulled his hat down low and continued, "Why not?"

"Because goodbye is forever, Jake." Sam murmured. "I can say see you later, though."

Mr. Forrester called from across the yard, "Sam, let the boy go! He's going to miss his bus."

He was ignored, as Sam pushed Jake's hat back, and fixed him with a heavy gaze, asking, "Will I see you later?"

"Two days." He replied, after a moment that laid heavy between them.

"How many hours is that?" Sam grinned. Darrell gaped. Didn't everyone know that was 48 hours? Even idiot cousin Wendell knew that. There was too much emotional intensity going on here. Sam's eyes were bright, and Jake was hiding his expression. That was never a good sign, though he was verbal, so he wasn't angry. What was going on here?

Jake sighed, "48, Brat."

Her tone was unusually bright and enthusiastic,"Okay! Can I come?" She waited a beat. "Jake..."she stage whispered, "You have to say it or I won't let you go. Say it." She hissed. Darrell nearly stepped backwards at her vehemence. What was going on? What did he have to say? Was she trying to get him to say I Love You, or something? This wasn't a way to get a guy to say it. He didn't even know if Sam knew how she felt about Jake, not really. This was his weekend to find out, after all, and he knew he'd quiz her like Mrs. Hunt did in first grade. He still cringed when faced with math facts. She used to ask questions like, "You have seven apples and six oranges, one goes to the moon and one leaves for Canada. What do you end up with?" He'd guessed thirty, but the answer was always purple unicorns on speed, and despair. He felt the same confusion as he looked at the scene before him. They were ignoring him.

"Brat, go away." Jake declared, his gaze not leaving hers. "You can't come with me." Darrell's mind spun. What the hell was this?

"Why not?" Sam stomped her foot, placing her hands on her rounded hips. She knew, Darrell swore, that she couldn't go with the track team to Compton. Why would she want to go?

"Because you're a..." he paused, "a pest." Darrell waited for the outburst. Jake never used that word. Never. He waited for Jake's expression to change, to become contrite, for him to whisper "Sam..." beseachingly, but he never did. Darrell expected it had something to do with their childhoods, though he couldn't place it.

"Fine!" She threw her hands in the air. "Fine then. If I'm a pest, I'm going to have all kinds of fun without you. You'll see, Jake Ely! You'll miss me."

With that, Dallas broke in, having come up behind them. "You kids still do that?" Do what? Darrell wanted to scream. What was this? This made less sense than the dudes that hung out in the library and spoke what they thought passed for Klingon. Spock would hate them, and Darrell hated his confusion. Purple unicorns on speed made more sense.

Sam laughed, whispered "Have fun!" and walked inside. Darrell stood and watched until Jake drove off, and Dallas filled him in. "I had no idea they still did that."

"Did what?" Darrell begged for information. He was baffled.

"Well..." the old cowhand began, "Tradition." As if that explained it all. When he saw Darrell's confused gaze, he added, "When Sammy was a kid, she used to tail Jake something fierce. So, seems to me every time he'd leave, she wouldn't say goodbye. So, when one of them left, they said "see you later." He paused, "Course, Sammy'd throw a fit askin' why she couldn't come, and Jake..." Dallas shrugged, "Well you saw. Come on then, I need some help."

Later, after he felt like he'd strained every muscle in his body, Mr. Forrester set both him and Sam to tack inventory, so as to be ready for the cattle drive in a few weeks. It was getting warmer, and the cows would need the higher elevations for good summer pasture. Finally, after what seemed like hours, they were called into dinner.

Grace set down a heaping plate of potatoes, carrots and chicken in front of him. He was never so glad for a hot meal in his life. It was glorious and he made a glutton of himself. Grace brought out a huge apple crumb pie, and he set his gaze upon it like it was manna from the very heavens. Sam, though, before the pie was even cut said, "I'll do it, Gram."

Grace nodded, "Of course," she handed Sam the knife. "you made it, after all."

Darrell goggled, "You really bake?" Darrell had thought she was only helping Grace.

Sam's expression was correcting, as she passed him a tiny plate filled with pie, "Have you met my Grandmother?"

Grace chided, "Sam!"

Oh, so Grace was teaching her how to bake. "Guess that makes sense." Darrell allowed.

He watched with fascination as she cut a wedge twice the size of his piece and placed it on a plate. He couldn't hold back, "You're going to eat that?" The slice was at least twice the width of her palm. Where would she put all of it?

"What?" She frowned, "No."

Brynna filled him in. "I think, Darrell, that that slice is for Jake."

"But he's not here." Darrell felt compelled to point out. He'd eat that pie. Why was she giving a slice to Jake when Darrell wanted to eat it?

"So?" Sam asked, placing the plastic wrap over the plate. "It'll keep till Sunday." Her gaze swept the table. "And no one is going to eat it." She said, "Please?"

They ate their own pie and conversation moved on. Finally, Sam asked her Gram, "How is it?"

Grace looked contemplative. "Your crumble is very good, but..." Sam urged to her to continue, and she did, saying, "You tend to use a touch too much sugar in the filling."

Darrell spoke softly. "Oh..." She had only added sugar because Jake said it was sour. She'd make the pie with Jake in mind. Really? Jake got homemade baked goods made to his specifications? What kind of racket did the guy have going? Maybe, he mused, maybe she did love him. Why else would she go against her Grandmother's teachings, just to make Jake happy. He needed to add this to the notebook. Surely, going against Grace Forester was worth 150 points easy. The lady was scary, in a way the Nonna could never be, because people loved her, and wanted to make her happy. Unlike the crypt keeper, who just scared the tar out of people. His stomach felt like it was filled with tar, but he still shoveled more in, grinning as Sam glared in his direction. She knew that he knew that she knew that he knew that she knew. It was super, like glue. Oh, God, it felt like he'd eaten paste. He needed more. Oh, God, he wanted more food. It was so good.

Sam cut him off. "Darrell..."

Grace sought to soothe Sam. "It's a very good pie, Sam. Very good. You might want to measure more carefully, though. The little things mean a lot."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The next morning, Darrell showed up at the crack of dawn and shovelled crap and scraped pens until he thought he would die. Then, Sam was assigned to go check on some of cattle and do those chores. She spent most of the time working with the water, a precious resource for them and also for the cows. Of course, she told him, cleaning their water systems was important, as some of the cows required it to be in troughs rather than the natural springs. Sam ended up getting all wet and there were a thousand times Darrell wanted to holler at her for doing whatever she was doing. When a cow got too close to her, and she didn't want it there, she'd just move defensively, or say "Git! Cow! Git!"

One brindle cow, however, she ran up to and spoke to like she was its mother. It moo'd low at her, and seemed to laugh as Sam rubbed the large animal's head like she would a cat. "Sam! What are you doing?" Darrell cried. Oh, what if Jake came home to find her mauled by a cow? He'd surely die before he met Don Henley and told him to his face how awesome he was, as if he didn't already know. The man was a God. He even had shirts named after him, didn't he?

"This is Buddy, aren't you Buddy?" She asked, "How's my baby?"

The cow gazed at her, and she rubbed it saying, "Are you happy? Eatin' lots of grass, and you're going to go up to the pastures and have all sorts of fun, aren't you, baby?"

The cow moo'd again, and Sam kissed it's face. "I love you, too, Buddy. Go on. Have fun."

Darrell nearly had a mini heart attack when the cow bumped up against Sam, nearly bowling her over. Sam just laughed, and rubbed the cow's ears. "Bye, Buddy!"

Darrell cried, "That's a cow."

Sam mounted up, after finishing her check, "And?"

"And, it could have killed you! It was huge!" He heaved a breath, "And let's face it, you're sort of...little."

"Little?" She spat, "I'm not little, and that wasn't a cow, that was my baby." She sounded like the I-see-dead-people boy in the vampire movie. Geez, what was that kid's preopupation with the undead in his movie roles? Was it typecasting? Darrell didn't think he'd care, were he making that kind of money while still having baby teeth. Still, he wondered if the kid was screwed up as an adult because of it. He needed to put this in his notebook. When was a cow a human girl's baby?

Sam was quiet until she went back to River Bend to change her clothes, as Grace had asked them to run to Three Ponies and the market. Sam bounded down stairs in a grey skirt that was wide and warm, and a pink shirt, with a zippered jacket that he knew he'd seen before. Her riding boots were nicer ones, black rather than brown work boots. Since when was Sam a girl? Since when did she wear skirts and pink and skirts? As they tacked up, he said, "You can't ride in a skirt."

"Who says?" She scoffed, "It won't get caught, and..." Darrell guessed she didn't want to mention if she had shorts or something on under.

He'd be lying, though, if he said he didn't check out her legs when she hiked up the fabric to sit astride safely.

They set off toward Three Ponies. Sam was deftly managing Witch, and Darrell was content on Tempest, who Sam said needed to get used to more people. Sam said, "You know the way?"

"Course." He tried to be as Jake-esque as possible. After all, was he not trying to be a method actor?

"Do you want to speed up a little?" She asked. Without waiting for a reply, she flew off and raced towards Three Ponies. He followed on Tempest, matching the speed step for step until Witch somehow burst forward. He nearly vomited, though, when he saw how fast and how free Sam was riding. She looked confident, but all he could see was her flying out of the saddle and landing in a heap in front of him. He couldn't do this. He wanted to lock her up. How was he supposed to keep her in once pice until Jake got back? Could he get into the Witness Protection Program? Could he throw some shit around, and get out of Darton county in the next 36 hours? When they slowed, she said, "Nice to see you."

Darrell laughed. "I'll get you back for all those tricks in the saddle."

"I'm sure you will." She agreed affably. Untacking and cooling the horses, and turning them out, Sam worked smoothly and quickly. Max saw them and called for them to hurry on in, as she was looking at old photographs to find some for Kitt. She said they didn't want to miss it, and Darrell was certain that he'd find something to add to the notebook. He wished he hadn't left the house without his notebook.

Once they were inside, Mrs. Ely hugged Sam to her. It still shook him that teachers were people. He thought they should be like robots that lived in the classroom, you know, switch 'em on and off to avoid all this awkwardness. Pulling back after a moment, Mrs. Ely said, "Sam, do you know Jake's plans for Sunday?"

"No." Sam replied, "But he's texted twice complaining about the food, so..." Darrell felt a little miffed. He hadn't gotten a single text.

"He'll be around." Mrs. Ely laughed.

"Yeah." Sam grinned, "Listen, Gram sent me over to give you these photos back, and Dad sent me with a note for Luke." No! His mind screamed, no! His name was Mr. Ely. Now, Darrell was going to slip up and call the man Luke, and wasn't that just creepy. It was creepy like that time his mother had gone on a date. Calling his friend's dad by his first name was just...wrong and sick and horrible.

She nodded, pocketing the note. "Come with me." They entered the kitchen to see photo albums piled on the table. Quinn was paging through one, and he saw them, and bid them hello.

"Oh, look at you kids." Mrs Ely murmured, holding one book in her hands. She placed the large book on the table, and Darrell was shocked at the number of pages in the one book. There had to be ten more in the box on the bench. There were countless pictures of meaningless events that seemed to be huge occasions.

Sam grinned, and pointed out a photograph. It was Jake, gap toothed, eating a popsicle. In the corner of the background was a glimpse of reddish hair, hair that had mellowed with age, even if her personality hadn't. The next shot showed Sam stealing the very same popsicle. The one next to it showed them both, one a bit red faced, and the other a bit tear-stained, eating their own popsicle. He said, "Awww..."

Quinn leaned over. "You were always stealing his stuff, you know that?"

Sam nodded, and said, "Yeah, I gave that up years ago."

"That's Jake's hoodie, Sam." Quinn corrected, pointing out the grey zippered jacket she was wearing over her shirt and circle skirt. Darrell's brain started adding things up. This was huge. Bigger than the pie. She was wearing his clothes. His clothes. And it had clearly been in her possesion. What did that mean? Oh, he needed his notebook. Why had he left without his notebook? He'd give anything to have doubles of the photos for evidence. This weekend was turning out to be bigger than the time his mother found a first run Toni Basil record at a swap meet for a penny. And, judging by the way she'd squealed, it had been huge.

"Stealing is totally different from borrowing." She informed him primly.

Max intervened. "Oh, look at this one." It was Quinn, Sam, and Jake, standing atop a bed of a truck Luke had sold years ago, or so Darrell recalled. They were wearing snowsuits and were preparing to jump off the truck into a huge pile of snow.

Max frowned, "I don't think there are many photos of Kit in this one. He would have been at college at this point." She flipped a page, and laughed outright. "Look who it is!"

Sam leaned over. "Who?"

"It's Sunday!" Max grinned widely, "Whatever happened to her?"

Sam turned beet red. "She's uh..."

Quinn poked her in the ribs. "Hmm?" Sam almost never blushed like that. Darrell had to know.

Darrell could hold his curiosity no longer. Sam blushed even harder as he asked. "Who's Sunday, Sam?"

Quinn snorted, "How'd you find out about Sam's..."

He was cut off by his de facto sister exclaiming, "La la la, we can't hear you!"

"Yeah, Sammy" Quinn spoke over her, "why don't you want Darrell knowing about..."

She cut him off. "I don't think it's important."

Max frowned, "But honey..."

Sam looked at the table, studied her hands. "It's not, really."

Quinn shook his head, "You loved Sunday, Sammy."

"Who was Sunday?" Darrell ventured, more forcefully.

"Sunday was Sam's cabbage patch." Max informed him.

"Cabbage patch?" Darrell asked. Sam named her garden? Well, knowing her, that didn't seem so strange. The girl apparently named beef cattle. But still, they took photos of her cabbage patch like it was family? And why was Sam refusing to talk about it?

"You've never played with a cabbage patch doll? I guess you really didn't grow up with Sammy. She lugged it everyplace she went from the time she was almost three to the time she was, what, five?" Quinn wondered. "It had to come along, or Sam would cry, and this one time, Jake kidnapped her, and lost it in the attic, so it couldn't come along...That was a horrible day."

"It was not everywhere." She said hotly. "And don't..." she trailed off, shamefaced.

"Huh Sammy? Did you just tell me not to call Sunday an it?" Quinn taunted.

"Quinn..." Max admonished.

"I'm just messing with her, mom. It's been years." Quinn smiled. "Every little girl has a doll, right? Besides, she loved that thing, and made all of us love it, too. Couldn't be boys in our own home because Sunday had a schedule."

"Not true!" She looked to Max. "Was it?"

"A little. It was a short phase, though, the whole Sunday has a nap time thing." Max absolved her of any real crime. "Remember the dresses we used to make her?' Max asked. "Your Gram would make her sweaters to match yours, it was adorable."

Quinn asked, "Why'd you ever call her Sunday?"

Sam shook her head, puzzled. "I don't know."

Max grinned. "I do."

Darrell begged, "Tell us." Quinn echoed his words.

Max shook her head again, "You aren't old enough for that story."

"When will I be, then?" Darrell asked. He hated when adults did that. You aren't old enough, they said, to learn about all the good stuff, movies and sex and beer and video games. You aren't old enough. But for something Sam did as a kid to be harder to get his hands on than getting around the school NetNanny was strange. All you had to do was hit a few keys and you were beyond it, and Netflix was unblocked. What could be the problem with this?

"When your historical analysis of the Haymarket riots is complete." Max said finally.

Darrell grinned. It would be good, then. He'd have to make note of this in his notebook and do all he could to dig for dirt. Sam, unaware of the context, said, "Gram wants me to run to the market. Darrell," she grinned, "can we take the Dodge?"

He knew that Jake would tell her no. He wanted to tell her no, but oh, he wanted to ride in that car. He said, "Jake wouldn't like that."

"Oh, come on." She said, "He lets me drive it."

Quinn snorted from across the table. "Uh huh."

Darrell grinned. Jake was a stick in the mud, anyway. Besides, he still felt bad about making Sam cry. That fact sat poorly with him, like he did in an optomestrist's chair. He was avoiding that appointment, too. "Come on, it'll be fun."

With that, Sam grabbed the keys from the hook and bounded towards the garage. The Dodge Charger was a lovely blue color. Sam said, "Hello, boy!"

"Sammy Darlin'" He shighed, "This car is a woman. A beautiful, sexy as hell, woman. Who is sadly going to another home."

Darrell slid into the soft leather seat and sighed. Sam started the engine, and it purred to life. "I wish Jake would keep this car. I love it more than the Jag you sold."

She turned on the radio, and they drove over the curves and dips of the desert towards Darton. The radio was playing The Dixie Chicks, but Darrell soon turned it AC/DC. This car was made to rock n' roll. He was almost sad to know it would have to go. Sam laughed as the clip in her hair fell out from the wind whipping through the windows as they drove along, just barely keeping the speed limit. Her cheeks glowed, and once, he saw her glance over to the passenger seat with a look of pure joy on her face, only to have it fade quickly. He wondered what was she expecting to see.

About halfway there, the sherif pulled up behind them, drove along behind them for a moment, and then blue lighted them. Darrell wished he was anywhere else. He was not so good with keeping his mouth shut around authorities, and most cops didn't take too well to his sense of humor. Sam pulled over to the right, and waited, with her hands on the wheel as Ballard came around, "Samantha Anne, how are you?"

"Fine, sir." She asked, "What did I do?" Darrell would have laughed. The guy looked a bit like Bufort T. Justice, from _Smokey and the Bandit_, and Sam was driving a 1969 Charger. It was too great for words. Luckily, he hadn't been expected to find any. Who knew what he might say? He was biting his lip to not say something totally inappropriate. He lessened the pressure. Bleeding lips were always cause for questioning.

He asked, "Lisence, registration, proof of insurance." He continued, "Nothing. I need to talk to your passenger. Would you see that he sends in those forms for the summer camp?"

Sam said, "I'm sure Jake'll be glad to." Darrell looked up, sweating bullets, and jumped a mile as the sheriff leaned in a little and exclaimed, "You're not Jake Ely."

"No. No sir." He stammered, "Darrell Lucas."

"Hm." He opened Sam's door. "Both of you, step out of the car please."

Sam asked as she picked her way towards the front of the cop car, her skirt floating about her body in the soft breeze, "Sherrif? Is there a problem?"

"Not legally, not really. But I'm wanting to have a word with you Sam." He looked into Sam's eyes. Sam didn't really seemed phased by it, but Darrell's pulse was raised. "Now, honey. Does..." He cleared his throat, "I don't like to pry, but does Jake know you're running around?"

"I'm just going to the market, sir." Sam was confused.

"No. I..." Ballard collected himself. "Running around. With a...boy." He sighed, "Come to think on it, does your Daddy know you're out here?"

"Sherrif...Jake's at a track meet, so I had to go to the market because Gram needs some stuff, so I used the Charger, because I can and Jake's going to sell it and I really like the car, and I drove out here. Now, sir, that's all there is to it. I swear. I'm not after any horses, I'm not doing anything except trying to grocery shop. I might buy some candy, and Jake hates it when I eat in the car, but since when is making his life difficult illegal?"

Darrell could see the sheriff trying not to smile. How could Sam be so calm? He jumped as the man asked, "But where does this young man fit into the whole thing? Now, if Jake asked Quinn to bring you into to town, where's Quinn? And..."

"Sheriff Ballard." Sam began, "Darrell's filling in for Jake at River Bend. They're good friends, sir, don't you remember him?" Darrell wasn't sure if he wanted the sheriff to recall that they'd met. She added, "I'm very confused. Quinn isn't here. I can drive myself into town."

"Oh." Ballard said, as Darrell was quaking in his boots. "Still, you best..." He shook his head, "Well. Mr. Lucas, was it?"

"Yes sir?" Darrell asked.

"You have a real nice day, now." The sheriff nodded, but didn't tip his hat, walking back to the car after staring Darrell down in such a way that he was very glad he'd gone to the bathroom before leaving Three Ponies.

In the canned good aisle, Darrell finally spoke. It had taken him that long to go over things in his mind. He needed his notebook. "What the hell..." he spat, "was that?"

Sam looked up, "I believe they're kidney beans in a can."

"No!" He nearly screamed, "With the cops!"

"Darrell," She shook her head, "He only wanted to remind me to have Jake fax some papers in for working at their summer camps. He passed them back with the insurance card."

"Why..." He began, "would he ask you and not Jake?"

Sam shrugged, "I don't know." She sighed, thinking. "Probably just saw the car, and wanted to remind him." Sam added something to the cart, looking to him as she asked, "What was his problem, do you think?"

"Other than he wanted to kill me?" Darrell watched as she counted boxes and coupons. Two, four, six, eight, who does the sheriff want to decapitate? Darrell wanted to remember that. He could put that in his notebook. Oh, he was a good poet. He was also good at composing epitaphs. He wrote the crypt keepers once, but she hadn't laughed. His mother had, though.

"He didn't want to kill you. He's just...a bit like Jake. Ballard doesn't like surprises, and he was expecting to see Jake in the passenger seat." Sam patted his arm awkwardly, "Don't worry."

"Did you just...pat my arm?" He asked.

"I was trying...to articulate my support, as Jen would say." She defended primly.

"Where is Jenny anyhow?" Darrell asked, as they moved through the store.

"In Utah, visiting her grandparent's cousins or something." Sam frowned, "I wish she was home."

"Me too." He breathed, knowing that Jen would keep up with Sam better than he could, "Me too."

As they were getting ready to pack it in and go to the checkout, Sam cried, "Darn! I almost forgot the Nutella."

"Nutella?" Darrell stopped pushing the laden cart, "What?"

"It's this...stuff..." She began, "a sick imitation of sandwhich filling."

"Sammy." He said, "Why are we buying then?"

She was quiet, and finally mumbled, "Thought I could make some brownies with it."

"For me?" He asked, putting fake hope into his tone. That idiot was getting brownies. He got brownies, too? Darrell knew they were for him and not Sam, as he thought back to a memory of a conversation they'd had not too long ago.

He and Jake had been painting a section of wall over at Deerpath. Darrell had gone online on his phone for a second, and passed it over to Jake, who had nearly hooted with laughter. Jake thought this one internet meme Darrell had shown him was funny. It was a spoon with a huge portion of peanut butter, an equally large portion of marshmallow fluff, and a a section of nutella, sitting on a table. The funny part, Jake insisted, was the comment with the photo of the diabetes guy in it, with white letters under it that read, "DIE UH BEET US" with a death skull over his face. He'd laughed right out loud, and said, "Got to show this to Sam."

Darrell had paused, putting away his phone. "Why?"

Jake had replied, "She thinks Nutella is evil." They'd gone back to work, and he hadn't thought anything of it. But now...

Darrell's mind came back to the present with Sam nodding. "Um. Sure. Yeah." She nodded, biting her lip, until she saw his expression, and hit him on the arm.

That night, Darrell bolted to his room with a simple "Hello!" shouted in Mama's direction. He needed his notebook. He needed to make a list.

Today's List of the Confusing

Brownies

Pie

Texts

Sunday

Sherrif B.

Darrell made notes with each.

Brownies- She was making him brownies with only things he ate in them.

Pie- "OMG" he scribbled, "CRAZY!" Finally, he scribbled that out to write Ditto.

Texts- WHY hadn't he gotten any?

Sunday- Who was she? Was she some kind of...dead relative? Crazy? Every family had one. He should know, he had dozens, several guests were of Uncle Sam. But no. Sunday was a doll, they'd said, and he had no cause to doubt Mrs. Ely. What did Sam's doll's name matter any? He highlighted that in yellow, which now meant must research. He had so much going on in this notebook, it was now color coded three different ways.

B.-Now, that was some crazy stuff. Ballard had acted like he was some kind of cattle rustler or something. He'd acted like...like he was scamming on Sam! Ballard thought that Darrell wanted Sam, just like that Nicholas guy. That was great, great. It was David Bowie and Freddie Mercury together in one record great. But, also. Why did Ballard give messages for Jake to Sam? Well, he could write that off he guessed. He would have to, anyway.

He looked at his list. He was forgetting something big, but for the life of him, he couldn't recall what else had gone on today. His bedroom door slammed, and he sighed, closing his physics book. He decided to think it over, but he forgot, and fell asleep before _The Colbert Report _came on.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Darrell was glad it was Sunday, and he only worked during the afternoon. He was worried, though. Mr. Forester kept glancing his way and glaring like he could melt flesh. Sam caught him at it once, and called, "Hi, Dad!" from where she was working. Mr. Forester turned on his heel, but fixed Darrell with a glare just the same, even as he the grace to look chastened.

Darrell lifted the wheelbarrow. "What's that about?"

Sam shook her head.

"Sam. Please." Did she think he was stupid? Did she think his name was Wendell? Really. As Stephanie Tanner would say, "How Rude!" He'd just have to clear that up.

"Daddy" she began. "Dad...Well, Heck Ballard called him last night."

Darrell groaned. He could still see the glow in Sam's eyes. But that hadn't been because of him. That was the Charger. Oh, God. He was going to be murdered because she loved the Charger. Jake was scary, but Darrell had dirt on him. A man with one daughter... A man with one, friendly, kind, daughter, was a barely contained killer on the loose. The man had acres of land. His body could be hidden anyplace for miles and no one would know. Who got killed over a car? Oh, just millions of people. Left Eye Lopez for one. That girl made TLC the band it was. She had died doing humanitarian work, and now he was going to die because he'd bought a box of Gobstoppers? He could see his headstone now,

Here Lies Darrell Lucas:

Death by Angry Father

whose daughter did not bother.

He was murdered good and proper

because he bought a box of Gobstoppers

Life sucked, but it was T-minus three hours until Jake was due back. The time could not pass quickly enough.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Darrell could feel it happening. Sam was shifty. She rocked the baby, cuddling him close, as she watched the timer on the stove. Darrell swore she'd set it to mark Jake's return, but she swore it was for the lasagna. Damn it to hell and back. The man goes away for 48 hours, and he gets pie, brownies, a pan of lasagna, not to mention a box of Star Crunches Sam wouldn't let him touch. What was this? What was she going to do when he left for school, race horses across the range during the day and run a bakery at night?

She hopped from foot to foot, singing the ABCs. The radio was playing, and Darrell was glad, for once, to hear Colin Raye. The words soothed him. Sam was jittery. She spoke, "Darrell, want to go for a ride?"

He started, "What about the lasagna?" Grace had left them in charge while she'd stepped out. Darrell didn't recall where.

She nodded, "Right. Of course." Ten seconds later, "What time is it?"

"Two minutes later than the last time you asked, Sam." Darrell intoned.

"Shush, you." She called. She kissed the baby in her arms, "No, not you, goofball. Who's so adorable? Who's the cutest?"

"Me." Darrell replied. Hey, he was honest. But evidently, the man who'd walked in did not appreciate his finely crafted brand of humor. His mother said his temperament was like feta cheese, but he thought it was more along the lines of mozzarella. Cool, smooth, and awesome, just like him. Mr. Forester did not think so, though, as he moved to wash his hands.

"Sam?" Her father began.

"Yeah?" She asked softly.

"How did you get all those chores done this weekend?" Mr. Forester asked. Darrell froze. She didn't have to do every chore that had been set before her. What now?

She shrugged, "I was bored."

She was bored. Bored. Bored? How the heck could she be bored? In the last 48 hours, she'd raced across the range, been interrogated by the cops, grocery shopped, danced across the ranch as she ran around doing the chores and working the horses, she'd bonded with a huge cow, splashed around in huge vats of water, managed to play with her brother, baked enough to feed an army, made noodles, homemade pasta sauce, blended cheeses, visited her neighbors, been interrogated by the cops, almost gotten him murdered. What did the woman want? He sighed. He wished he'd snuck his notebook in here. His head hurt. He was never leaving the house without his notebook again, not ever. Could he fit a list on his hand?

He ignored the conversation going on around him as Brynna and Grace returned. His mind was whirling. What was this? Who was she? He was running on dregs just keeping pace with her, and she was bored. How could this be?

He was shocked from his thoughts as Sam said, "Daddy. Count to five." He saw Brynna there, grinning at Wyatt's discomfort. Grace just paused in chopping the salad, and smiled.

Wyatt looked uncomfortable as he began and Sam handed him the baby. At four, Sam turned around and bolted out the house towards the front of the house and the door like she was a runner. Darrell followed and watched as Sam launched herself like a rocket across the porch, and slowed like Bambi did on the ice, pausing, limbs askew. She didn't stop soon enough, and she crashed into Jake, arms flying around him in an effort to stay standing. His hat went flying as she knocked into him, and said, "Hey."

That was it? Hey? Darrell'd thought that maybe she'd seen that she'd missed him, that she loved Jake. He knew that their reunion would be the tipping point. But it wasn't. What more did he need to do? Where was his notebook when he needed it?

Jake simply replied, "Brat."

Quinn got out of the truck that had delivered Jake and nodded, "LoJack." He said, "My God, Sammy."

"I don't have him LoJack'd, Quinn. I'm just good at hearing things." Sam replied, walking towards the house, after one last look at Jake. She'd sighed, and turned. "Come on to the barn. Witch missed you."

Once they were inside, Jake spoke, "Speaking of hearing things, I got a phone call from Heck Ballard last night."

"He called you?" Sam spluttered. "Who does that man think he is?"

Jake frowned at Sam. "He wanted to make sure you were on the papers for the Charger, Brat."

"Clearly you told him to mind his own." She picked her way through the barn towards the ten acre.

"Sam." Quinn chided.

"What?" She grinned in his direction.

Jake ignored them, continuing muleishly on his original discussion. As usual, when the man had something to say, he went right along saying it until he was done, no matter what. "I don't like getting phone calls, Sam."

"Here's a tip," She said, hopping the fence into the pasture, "Don't pick up the phone."

Grace called for them, after a few moments of horse time, and Darrell nearly laughed as Jake zero'd in on the plate of brownies on the counter.

"Are these brownies for me?" He asked, hopefully.

"No." Sam pursed her lips, carrying plates into the dining room, "I made them for Duncan. He was around lots while you were gone. We were busy. Didn't get to those."

Wyatt began to speak from the kitchen, but Brynna shushed him as Grace looked on with a gimlet stare. Darrell nearly gagged.

"Duncan, huh?" Jake laughed, eating a brownie, "Does he live on Sesame Street?"

"No. He happens to have a very modest apartment. And he lets me drive his Charger anytime I want."

"I'm sure he does, Brat." He sat down when Grace called them into the dining room, "I'm sure he does."

Sam and Jake continued to set the table, and Darrell followed them into the room. He couldn't hold his reply. "Hold up! Ain't nobody! Ain't nobody getting the credit for your escapades this weekend but me, thank you very much!" He gasped, and spat, "Bored!"

He turned on Jake, "Do you know what happened to me this weekend?" All his planning for a glorious reunion, of his plans finally working out, and all he got for his hard work was a couple of mumbled greetings and spatting? They were supposed to be making out, not arguing! And who was this Duncan _stronzo_? He hadn't been around, had he?

Jake raised an eyebrow as Darrell tossed a fork on the table with some force. "While you were out sunning yourself on the beach with hotties, I was here! Here, being drug from pillar to post. In the last 48 hours, I've raced across the range, been interrogated by the cops, grocery shopped, ran around doing the chores like a chicken with my head cut off, been told that Sam literally calls a cow her baby, been splashed with water and cow spit, been cruelly denied baked goods because they're for _you_, been interrogated by the cops. The cops! And she almost got me murdered! God, man, would you guys just..." He drew a breath, "God, Sammy, I can't handle you."

"What?" Sam asked, adding ice to the glasses calmly.

Quinn was howling with laughter in the corner. Sam threw a pot holder at him, and turned to him with wide eyes. "Darrell, if I..."

"Were you really bored?' He asked. "No, don't answer that."

Jake spoke, "What's this about murder, Sam?"

She waved a hand. "Dad got a little crazy. Apparently, like, I'm a girl. Who'd'thunk it?" She shrugged. "And I have to set boundaries, because...Well, remember when I was eleven? And Dad..."

Jake blushed, and nodded. Darrell figured he was glad that Wyatt had gone to get Cody's high chair and that Sam spoke softly. "Same thing, only worse." He wasn't though glad, though. He wanted to shout from the rooftop. He wanted this all out.

"How worse?" Quinn asked.

"He was talking about Darrell..." She confessed. "and used actual words, instead of just vague references."

"What?" Quinn scoffed, "Him?" Darrell nearly punched Quinn at his tone. What did he mean? Darrell was incensed. He was quite a catch. His mother said so quite frequently. His mother never lied. Well, wait, she'd done that for years, systematically. But she'd never lied about how awesome he was.

"Yes, Quinn, him." She paused, as the adults came back in, "All in all, it was a calm weekend."

"Got a lot done, Jake." Wyatt added as he entered with the baby. "Sam was a real help."

Darrell snorted. "She's a brat."

Jake's eyes turned to his, and Wyatt's weren't far behind. Quinn asked, "What'd you just call her?"

Danger, young Skywalker! Danger! Oh, no. "I..." Jake looked like a brick wall. Maybe he should run. He couldn't beat Jake to the door. Oh, God. He'd survived the weekend only to be murdered just when he thought he was safe. He could see his headstone now:

Here Lies Darrell Lucas

Whose Died at the End

At the Wrath of His Friend

Who Knocked Him Flat

Because He'd Called Sam a Brat

**I'm sorry. This isn't very well written, I think. But the goodbye scene wouldn't let me go. Nor would Darrell's terrible poetry. So I hope you like it. **

**Please review. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Warning: Ditch all semblances of pre-series cannon, and hold on. Crack!fic glasses optional. This isn't very good, but I laughed. That's something, right?**

Darrell was confused, again. Jake called Sam a Brat, and she called him a Jerk. To Darrell that said something. You didn't talk to girls like that, but then he realized, Sam wasn't just a girl, she was a buddy. She wasn't quite a bro, but she was a buddy. It was amazing. A girl could be a friend.

Maybe, Jake was sort of right. Maybe she was Jake's friend, too. He started a list.

How They Are Friends

They Do Stuff Together (Does Work Count?)

They Talk (Maybe)

They Share

His mother always said, sharing was caring. So, obviously, she said, if he cared about his cousin Wendell, he'd share his bedroom when the idiot came to visit. Well, he really didn't care about him, not one bit. So he wouldn't share, and the guy could sleep on the lay z boy, worn out springs and all, cousin or not. But this wasn't about him, or Wendell. Wendell thought that everyone spent time thinking about him, and Darrell wasn't about to add to it, or give him the satisfaction of being right, even thought it was probably the only satisfaction he got, you know, that he didn't have to pay for.

And speaking of paying for it, well, not it, but paying for stuff, he knew that now was the time to call in a favor. Jake owed him one, and well, if sharing was caring, then Sam could pay him back in Jake's stead, right? They were close enough for that to count under the bro code by-laws, right? And, with a sinking feeling, Darrell knew that if he wanted to take Ally to the dance, well, he needed to be able to dance. And who better to help him than Sammy Forrester, what with her secrety secret dancing past? He had promised to take Ally, and he was worried, because he couldn't even do the chicken dance. Hiding his notebook, he decided to take a drive over to River Bend and see if he could ask her for help.

Once there, he headed for the barn, because, really, where else would Sam be? He found her mucking a stall, spreading fresh straw. She smiled as she saw him. "Hey."

He nodded, "Look. Ah, Sam. You know that I..."

She turned to face him, and made a motion for him to continue. She watched, and he felt his face heating badly. "I...really..." He cleared his throat."This is hard, sorry."

"What?" She grinned, obviously trying to set him at ease.

"Please teach me to dance." He blurted.

The humor vanished from her face. "I don't dance."

He bounded after her as she walked away. "That's a lie. Are you a liar, Sam Forester?"

She spun, angrily, "I'm not lying. I do not dance."

"But you can!" He asserted, looking into her eyes.

"I used to be able to." She scowled, "Jake needs to shut up about it. He promised me we..."

Darrell cut her tirade off, "Quinn told me, Sam. And I do need help."

She shook her head, and put her hands up in no can do gesture, "Sorry."

"Come on, Sam. I've done shit for you guys." He was prepared to list everything he'd every done for either of them. He had nowhere better to be, what with his mother trying to cook healthy foods. "Why won't you help me?"

She sighed, "Look. It's not like that, okay?"

"Then what's it like? Seems to me you just don't want to return a favor."

She glared mulishly.

He added, "Remember, weeks ago? I said I'd get you back for all that fancy footwork in the saddle? I'm calling it in, now, Sammy."

She huffed. "Fine. But there are rules. You do as I say, and you don't...blab to anyone."

"I can live with that." He nodded, "When?"

She seemed to think for a moment, and the spoke slowly. "Tonight. At Seven. Meet me in the garage."

He nodded, almost hugged her, but the remembered she didn't like to be touched, and began to leave. He nearly tripped as she called, "And not a word of this to Jake!"

It was 6:54 and he was committing a crime. He here he was, after all the years of skirting the line between bad boy and criminal, had crossed over. He was on Ely land without permission. He looked to the sky, and whispered, "Wonder what the old man would think of me now?" He made his way towards the back entrance of the garage, away from house. Entering softly, he paused and looked around. Sam had pulled up the area rug, moved her chair, and created a big open space where the living room area had been, hours before.

She was shifting from foot to foot in a pair of socks. He supposed she was relying on the heated and finished workspace that was nicer than some people's houses. When he'd first started hanging around with Jake, he'd assumed the guy had money, and maybe they did, but they also had history, connections to this land. This place had been built before his father had taken over the place from some family member. He wondered what it would be like, to be secure in a place like Jake was, to know that you belonged, to know that someone belonged to you, with you, like Sam did with Jake.

He watched her shift around. She was obviously very comfortable in this space, despite her temporary unease. Her yoga pants and tank top were average Sam apparel when not wearing her traditional jeans. She nearly jumped a foot when he said, "Sam?"

She spun around, "Geez. I thought you were Jake. I've had a heck of a time getting rid of him tonight."

"Huh?" He asked, wondering for the millionth time why this had to be secret. He was no one's dirty little secret, and he and Sam weren't even that, so it seemed triply insulting.

"I told him..." She shrugged, "I couldn't think of anything to say. So I just...ignored the question."

Darrell asked, "Are you sure, Sam?" Suddenly, the part of himself that he both loved and loathed came to the fore. He was a good guy, in the end, even if it was a drag sometimes.

"Yeah." She nodded, "I mean... It's not a big deal, right?"

"Sam." Darrell nodded, "I'll owe you one, Darlin'"

"You will." She smiled. "Just wait a minute. I've got to put on my..."

There was the opening of a door. Sam grabbed his arm and shoved him into the supply closet, plunging them both into darkness. Darrell nearly tripped over something, and he cursed internally. How could he know this closet like the back of his hand and trip when it mattered most? Why had, he wondered, she shoved him in here like a paid escort?

He sighed, thinking of the irony of this whole thing. He wished he had his notebook, and some light to see it by. He'd wanted to get Sam and Jake here, not end up here with her. It was just awkward, standing in the dark. It wasn't the least bit fun, or sexual. He tried to move around, and her fingernails, chipped and stubby as they were, dug into his arm. She whispered, "Shhh!"

After a moment, the record player began playing. It was The Red Hot Chili Peppers. Sam groaned, softly, "Quinn's out there. He'll never leave."

Darrell nodded, his heart racing. Sam seemed cool as a cucumber. Why wasn't she worried? She should be freaking out, like he was. This was absolutely horrible, worse than the time Amy March had thrown Jo's notebook in the fire, or stolen her husband. His mom loved Professor Behr, but Darrell had never understood how the two could be really happy together. His headcannon was totally Jo/Laurie, and if anyone had a problem with that, well, he could handle himself. Sam shook him from his thoughts as she tried to move a bit, and bumped into a toolbox. His heart was in his throat as he heard a chuckle from just beyond the door, and a whispered, "Do they really think they're fooling anyone?"

Darrell nearly called out, but something in Quinn's tone made him stop. What did he mean? Who was fooling who? About what? Oh, great! Now his mind began to sing, "Who's Cheating Who?" That's it! Maybe Quinn had seen his truck, and he'd seen him come in here, and that's all there was to it.

After a second more, before Darrell could somehow tell Sam his thoughts, somehow, maybe ni sign language, mime, or smoke signals, Quinn called out, "I'd finish up if I were two. Dad's looking for you, Jake."

Darrell's mind whirled. Quinn obviously had some reason for thinking that Jake and Sam were in here. What was it? Oh, he'd give anything to see Sam's face right had Quinn had spoken. It seemed that people were holding out on him. Darrell's heart began to race, and it beat double time as they heard the door click close again. "Did you call my name, Quinn?" Jake asked.

"Yeah..." His brother began, confusedly. "You know what, Jakey, let's go inside."

Jake must have nodded, or something, because he spoke, "I need to put this away."

Darrell felt like he was going to pass out before Quinn blurted, "No!"

Jake's tone shifted, "You messing with my tools?" This was it. This was the end. He was going to meet his maker. There's no way he could explain his shameful lack of rhythm to Jake, and so then Jake would assume that he and Sam...

The door began to open, and Quinn called out, "No!" Words popped into Darrell's mind "No matter how greatly I have hitherto abused the life Thou gavest me, grant me the grace to end it in Thy holy love." So what if he had learned that prayer to piss off the Hugh, their rector, who wanted him to spend time memorizing the catechism. Well, the old bugger had been outfoxed when Darrell had stood up and prayed a prayer for a holy death instead of the beatitudes like the other people. The priest had said, work on your memory and prayers, and he had. He just had never thought he'd need it.

It was too late. The door was opened and Darrell was too worried to pray. Darrell began to speak, opening his mouth, but Sam spoke. "You...ah, need to put that away, then?"

Jake's hand tightened on the screwdriver in question. Darrell fleetingly wondered if he was going have his eyes gouged out with it. That wasn't a lovable way to die, now was it? His bravado fled him when Jake opened his mouth. "Out here." Jake snapped, "Now."

Sam bristled, "What's wrong?"

Jake said, voice like ice, "Let's make a list."

Darrell cut him off, begging, "Jake. Listen."

"You are in no position to be calling the shots, here, Darrell." Quinn said.

Sam flopped down in her chair, "I don't see why you're upset."

"Brat, Jesus!" Jake tossed a sweatshirt, softly, towards her. Darrell fleetingly heard something in the tone, and he wished he had his notebook. She put it on, and stood to tug it down, and gasped when she found herself tossed over Jake shoulder. Darrell would have laughed, if Quinn wasn't watching him like he deserved to die. Jake's arms wrapped gently around her, to keep her in place as she struggled halfheartedly. If she wanted down, she'd get that way, but after a few seconds, she struggled and protested, mostly for show, he guessed. Jake probably thought a lot of things right now, but Darrell was amazed. Not one bit of that anger, the anger that was blazing in his eyes, was directed towards her physically.

"Jake!" She called, "Put me down, and stop acting like a jerk." Her own inflection, though somewhat angry, seemed to match Jake's in a way that seemed creepy. He wished he could analyze this, but Darrell was still too stuck in the moment.

Jake didn't reply to her, walking towards the door closest to the house. He turned around, as though Sam wasn't even there, as though she weighed nothing, pressed her knees into his chest, and said, "Get the fuck off my land, Darrell." There wasn't any fury there, not really, just a tone that treated Darrell like he was stupid, and that Jake would really disembowel him if this didn't turn out okay.

Sam huffed, "You're acting like a Neandertal! Have you devolved in the last two hours?"

\"I must be real stupid." Darrell could hear Jake reply as they walked away, "You're going have to talk real slow, Brat, so I don't kill somebody."

Once safely off Ely land, Darrell howled with laughter, until he cried tears of mirth. Jake had responded brilliantly. His actions had screamed "Mine! Mine!" To the pont that Darrell wondered what Sam and Jake were hiding if anything. Oh, this had worked out better than if he could have planned it. Jake had acted like someone had taken something he cared about, like someone had taken his woman, and Sam had responded just like they'd been in on it together. Which of course, they hadn't been, because Darrell hadn't planned it. He would have given anything to have his notebook with him, or to hear the conversation they must be having. Despite his worry about how Jake would handle the whole thing, or that Sam would out his lack of dancing ability, he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

The next day, Darrell's back was shoved into his locker, once the hallways were cleared. He had expected this, and so he took it, for once, without swinging in retaliation. Jake stared into his eyes for a second. "Sam says I owe you an apology." He rolled his brown eyes, "You're not getting one."

"Huh?" Darrell asked.

"She says I overreacted. She says I didn't use my listening ears. She says there's a good reason you were on my land, with my..." He stopped for a second, "Without an invitation. In the closet. In the Dark. With Sam. Who was half-naked."

Darrell was confused. Sam wasn't half naked. She had been dressed, mostly. But then Darrell remembered that this was Jake he was talking to. He and Sam had some interesting ideas about what it meant to be modest, not that they talked about it like the one fundie preacher he watched once at four in the morning when he'd had the flu, but rather in the quiet humility and honor with which they lived their lives. They, he knew from overhearing them talk much like they had on movie night, had some pretty spiritual thoughts about marriage, about respect for other beings in general. Why did it seem that Jake was applying those ideals, that level of honor and sometimes laughable paranoia that Darrell wanted her, to Sam? She wasn't his wife. Heck, she wasn't even his girlfriend. But yet, he looked at her body like...well, Darrell didn't know what like.

Jake smiled, chillingly calm, "But I really couldn't see it, until she told me..."

"Told you?" Darrell echoed.

"Told me that you wanted to learn to dance." Jake's tone immediately shifted, and he looked at Darrell again, his eyes becoming softer. "I get it. I understand."

"Okay. So?" Darrell asked, glad he didn't have to explain about his lack of ability and his desire to make a good date for Ally, as Jake moved to let him pass.

"Okay, so, you get a free pass for trying to play seven minutes in heaven with Sam. We'll help you. Or she will." Jake said, "Just come over after school."

Darrell nodded, and they began to head to their respective classes. "Darrell?" Jake called from the other door.

"Yeah?" He turned, wide grin spreading across his face.

Jake mirrored it as he added, "Use the front door this time."

That afternoon, he did as he'd been instructed. He found Sam and Jake standing in the open expanse of the formal living room, as opposed to the cozy den. The carpet had been rolled up, and the couches shoved against the wall.

"Well..." Sam began, when she saw him, "Let's go, then."

"So, uh, how's the work?" He asked.

Jake grinned, "Just do what she does, backwards."

He moved forward to take Sam's hands, and she stepped backward, forcefully. Jake looked like he was about to laugh. Sam looked like she was either about to bolt, scream, or grab onto to Jake like a lifeboat. Darrell asked, "What?"

"Hey, look." She flustered, "I'm doing you a favor, here, Darrell. It doesn't mean you get to touch me." She acted like he had cooties or something. Didn't girls get over that faster than boys? His mother was always saying she wished she had a daughter, because they matured faster or somesuch.

"What were you going to do last night, then, Brat?" Jake chided, "Teach him to dance through osmosis?"

"How quickly our tunes change, huh?" She scoffed, "Seriously. My method is this: Side by side. I can do the lead steps, at least as well as you ever could, Jake." Oh, that was a pot shot, then. At least she'd gotten him back, as good as he'd given. Darrell grinned.

Jake snorted. Quinn came in, and asked, "So we're learning to dance, then?"

"How do you know?" Darrell asked.

"Oh, their little discussion last night caused quite a stir. Mom didn't know quite what Jakey here came in spitting mad with Sammy over his shoulder." He laughed outright, "Gotta say, thanks for that, Darrell."

Sam threw a pillow at Quinn, and cleared her throat. "Are we going to do this, or not? Because I could be doing a million other things right now."

Jake turned on the radio, and there was music. John Bon Jovi's tones filled the room. Sam moved next to Darrell, and spoke. "Never thought I'd be a dance teacher."

Darrell asked, "Why can't...why won't you let anyone touch you, Sammy?"

Quinn snorted, "Sammy's magnomous."

"I know that!" Darrell said, "I only mean dancing."

Quinn shook his head, enjoying the couple in question's discomfort, "No..."

As Quinn went to continue, the phone rang. Jake went to answer it and returned after a moment, everyone waiting in silence. Quinn didn't want to continue, it seemed, without the ability to make his brother squirm. Jake spoke, "Brat. That was Grace. You're meant to be cleaning your room now."

Sam sighed, "I'll do it tomorrow."

"She said to get home now, Brat." Jake sighed, "I'm thinking you best go." There was that tone again. Darrell swore to himself then and there that he needed his notebook all the time from now on.

Sam nodded, knowing that listening to her Grandmother wasn't really optional. Sam left, and Darrell stood there, dumb. "What do I do?"

Jake and Quinn shrugged in unison. "Don't look at us, man. I can't dance, and neither can Jake."

He went home, wallowing in his inability, and pulled out a phone book. It was time to call in the big guns. He called Jen, and said, "Jenny!"

"What do you want, Darrell?" She turned her head and spoke to someone in the room, "No, Mom. It's Jake's friend, not mine."

"Jenny, baby..." He wheedled, deciding to ignore her tone, and find out the dancing school they'd attended as children. Information in hand, he looked the place up in the yellow pages, and dialed the phone, feeling like Jim Carey's version of the Grinch when he pink slipped everyone in Whoville.

* * *

Darrell stood in the entryway of the dance studio and watched as a look crossed his best friend's face. He was so tired of courting death, but needs must. If Jake let Quinn say he couldn't dance, then the thing to do was have him taught. It was only being friendly. And he still needed to know more about this whole Brat/Jerk thing. So what if he'd had to trick him and Sam into coming into the Saturday Seminar at a local dance studio. There was no way out of it now. Jake was standing next to Sam, and he watched them as a pert blonde greeted them, separating them out from the others in the lobby. Darrell took the lead, as he'd made the reservation, and the blonde sent them up a flight of stairs to a smaller studio. Sam looked to Ally. "I wonder where everyone is..."

Ally shook her head, and replied, "I don't know. Are there supposed to be more people?"

Sam's reply was cut off by the entry of the same blonde. "I'm Christine. Now, welcome." And Darrell watched as she babbled on about being brand new dancers, and what a wonderful thing it was, and how great it was to have them. Christine continued, "To start we'll have a demonstration. I'll just ask..."

She herself was cut off by another voice. "That won't be necessary, Christine. You may go."

"Ma'am?" The pert blonde was dumbstruck, it seemed. He watched, with some confusion, as Sam stood straighter, as though a string was pulling her up from the ceiling. Jake shifted slightly closer to her side. Sam was now easily touchable from that distance, and Jake's stace was clearly supportive. It clearly stated his unity with Sam, as they fit together like puzzle pieces who weren't yet touching, but you knew they should.

"I will teach this class myself." A woman spoke with the authority of someone who was not used to being questioned as to her motivations. "I understand there are costumes that need to be ordered. You may see to that task with all due haste." She turned to Darrell, and he recognized her cultured voice from the phone. "Young man, why are you here?"

Darrell replied, "Well, my buddy and I can't dance..."

"Can't dance?" She turned her glare to Sam. "On what planet can you not dance?"

"Mrs. Saywer..." Sam seemed glad to see her if wary. Who was this lady? "How are you?"

"I'd be better if a girl I taught to dance for nearly ten years didn't go around saying she can't dance." The woman, Mrs. Sawyer, said. Darrell grinned. Here was their dance teacher. What she must know about them. His notebook was in the truck, and he could dash and get it if he needed to do so.

"I never..." Sam stated.

THere was a glimmer of joy in the woman's eye, and there was no real anger. Darrell liked her instantly, "So it was your partner, then?"

"Ma'am..." Sam tried again.

"Do not grovel, Sammy. It does not become you. Now." She fixed a look upon Jake. "If we are finished with the deception of the century, we will begin. You should know better than to lie, young man. I will take soap to you, adult or no."

Mrs. Sawyer centred herself in the room. She began to speak. "Now. Ridiculous as it may be to have two of you here, we start with a simple series of exercises based around the boxstep, which is the foundation for many social dances." She ignored Sam and Jake, turning to him and Ally to instruct them to in a few steps, which she called a boxstep. She praised them, quite liberally for a woman who seemed so put off with Sam and Jake. He couldn't rreally think as he was too busy tripping over his feet. Nor did he see the photographs of children dancing hanging on the walls, one of which, had he looked, would have shown his friends.

Darrell nearly tumbled to the floor as he heard her say, "What are you two doing?"

Sam replied, "Learning the boxstep..."

"The boxstep? Learning the boxstep?"

"Yes ma'am." Jake replied, in all seriousness, as though he and Sam were perpetuating some great joke. How good were they, then?

"Absurd." She sighed. "I cheated your friends out of a demonstration. Jacob, you and Samantha will provide it."

Sam spluttered. "Now?"

"No, last Tuesday." Mrs. Sawyer went over to her music system. "Yes, now. I trust a simple quickstep is not beyond you both."

Suddenly, Pon de Reply began to play and Sam and Jake began to dance. They moved quickly, and Darrell was mesmerized. He stole a glance at Ally, and she also looked impressed, sort of like his mother did after he cleaned the bathroom. Sam and Jake looked so different, moving as they did. He didn't know his buddy could move so quickly unless being chased by a bull, or on a track. Somehow this was different. They were communicating, moving as one. There was a small smile on Jake's face, and Sam seemed oblivious to anything but Jake. They fumbled a bit, he supposed, but they were awesome once they got going. He moved to stand by Mrs. Sawyer. "Wow." He caught notice of the photograph in the college on the wall, and said it again. "Wow."

"What do you mean, wow?" She frowned, "Their hold is abysmal, and Jake is moving like a herd of stampeding buffalo." She frowned, her voice becoming slightly conspiratorial, "Did they fight today?"

"No, not that..." Darrell began. What did that have to do with anything?

"You know of. Right." She paused, her strident tone became musing, "Well."

She paused the music, calling. "Ally. Darrell."

"Yes?" Ally replied.

"That is..." Darrell expected it. Now, the woman would praise them, give them compliments. His hopes were dashed, as she said, "an example of how not to do a quickstep."

"Mrs. Sawyer?" Sam asked, "What did Jake and I mess up?"

"You had a better connection at nine, Sam, than you do at 16. Might I suggest a couple's retreat? Or some counseling?" She spoke as though she were serious, though Darrell knew she must have been joking. She added, "I've seen divorced couples more comfortable around each other."

Darrell grinned. "They're not dating, ma'am."

"Really?" She spoke confidently, "Well, let's not waste time discussing stupidity."

She began to teach Darrell and Ally a simple foxtrot. She began, "The foxtrot is a versatile dance, that can be danced to almost anything, much like the basic pattern of the boxstep. The important thing about social dancing is to move with tempo. You can do anything if you listen to the music, if you understand it. Your music will help you." Darrell hoped the old lady didn't start dancing around like Miss Lippy in _Billy Madison_. The First Grade teacher had sounded the same when she talked about music, right before she sent the kids out to play dodgeball and slather paste on her face. Darrell did his best not to laugh as she continued, I normally teach a two step in these classes, but you may ask your friends how to do that. After all, I feel compelled to actually earn my fee."

Darrell's ears sort of glossed over as she began to lecture. "Now, the foxtrot is actually combination of two dances. By combining the one-step and the two-step dances, the foxtrot was developed as a smooth, versatile dance."

They began to dance, and she showed called, as she had in the exercises, "slow, slow, quick! quick!" with great enthusiasm. Darrell got lost in keeping track of what he was doing, hoping he wasn't holding onto Ally too tightly. He felt sort of funny, off balance, as though he'd borrowed someone's skip-it, though instead of being on his foot, the skip-it was inside of him. He hoped Ally could not feel his palms sweating.

He was no good. No good at all. He shouldn't have come, he shouldn't have done this. But then, he saw the same expression in Ally's eyes. She flicked her eyes over to where Sam and Jake were doing some other kind of dance after Mrs. Sawyer chided them for sitting out. They were talking. Sam was grinning, and Jake seemed happier than Darrell normally saw him. He only hoped to be able to move like that, one day. Not only in dancing, but through life with someone, like that. God, dancing was turning him into a girl. This was not good. He lowered his gaze to Ally's sparkling face, and he relished in the fact that he was not, upon reflection, a girl at all.

Repetition finally allowed Darrell and Ally more fluidly. Darrell loved Mrs. Sawyer. She seemed so stern, and yet she was this little thing who jammed out to crunk. She was fabulous, even talking about things like Lines of Direction. Didn't all lines have a single direction and why had he heard a capitalization in the woman's voice? Really, why had Sam told him this was serious? Mrs. Sawyer was fun, shooting knowing looks at Sam and Jake and allowing them to jam out to real music. Had she been 45 years younger, he would have gone for her. Well, if she were a little less wrinkly. As they improved, she began to speak to them between offering instructions.

At one point, she corrected Sam for trying to hijack. Sam apologized. "I guess dancing with the baby has made me something of a leader."

Mrs. Sawyer, Darrell noted, looked shocked. "Baby?"

"My brother." Sam filled her in. "Dad remarried a few years back."

"Oh." She muttered, "I initally supposed had forgotten the first rule of dance and were talking about Sunday. I am gratified to know I was mistaken, as I am sure you both are. Was I mistaken, Sam?"

Sam blushed, and Jake tripped. Sam burbbled. "No." She laughed, "Poor Sunday."

Jake frowned, "Poor Sunday?"

Darrell looked at Ally. She shrugged slightly. "Who's Sunday, Sam?" Ally asked.

Sam grinned and said kindly, "No one you'll ever know, thank God."

Darrell squeezed her hand softly. He'd fill her in later. What did it mean, though, that Mrs. Sawyer knew about Sunday?

Ally asked, "What's the first rule of dance?"

Jake replied, "Always be prepared." Darrell grinned outright at that. Who knew that dance had shaped something Jake Ely always said about sex? It was too glorious for words.

Moments later, Mrs. Sawyer asked, "Sam. Do you intend to throw a fit if I ask you to change partners?"

Sam went rigid. "No. I haven't done that since I was four."

Jake snorted, and Mrs. Sawyer said, "I believe you were nine, in the American Smooth Advanced Class. As I recall, you stomped your foot and sulked and stared daggers at Amy Goodwyn for three minutes and forty two seconds of preadolescent hell." She turned to face Darrell and Ally, "Samantha's biggest flaw as a dancer was that she never maintained an attitude of sociability or willingness to be flexible." Darrell somehow got the idea that this was important to dancing, for some reason he didn't know. Mrs. Sawyer sometimes sounded like a voice out of one of those silly films they played on reels in elementary school. Old technology was often one of the benefits of a rural school, though Darrell had had a lot of fun with those old movies, especially when they got him out of science class, which, now that he thought about it, might explain his difficultly with physics.

Sam frowned, "It was not a good day."

Ally, who could see them from over his shoulder, asked. "You used to throw fits, Sam?"

"No." But everyone knew she was lying, clearly, from her petulant tone.

Darrell turned as part of the dance, and could see Jake trying not to disagree with her, whispering, "Brat." Now, he got what Quinn had been saying about Sam being monogamous, why she wouldn't let him dance with her. She would only dance with Jake. How nauseatingly adorable. He must have given her a look, because she sighed, "Okay, yes. But they were not my proudest moments, all right? I didn't know about the whole sharing thing. And it was only once or twice."

Mrs. Sawyer laughed. "I got complaints from the other parents, you know, about you two."

Darrell asked, "What?" This was great. Who knew dance had made them such daredevils?

"Oh, yes." The woman gave a real smile, like a goose looking after her goslings. "It was not my policy to allow students to pick their dance partners, not in classes, anyway, unless they were competing, and since you two refused to do as I suggested and compete, I had little recourse. Besides, it was my goal to train them to be a sociable dancer. Really, Sam, when you go dancing now, do you say 'Oh, beg pardon, I don't dance with anybody else?'" Mrs. Sawyer sighed.

"Mrs. Sawyer..." Sam began. Jake somehow stopped her from saying that they didn't dance anymore, not since the accident, it seemed, if their dates matched up.

Darrell could buy into this. "So, did they dance with you for a long time?"

"Sam started at about three. They danced until Jacob was about thirteen, as I recall."

She spent a few moments actually instructing them once they switched partners, and continued. "They achived some level of competence. That is to say, they didn't look like bumbling idiots on the dance floor. Which is something, I suppose, considering how clumsy they are." She continued, "Not suprisingly, they have deteriorated rapidly." She shrugged.

Sam shook her head, as Darrell began to speak. He quieted. Dance class passed, and he hoped that Ally had enjoyed herself. Dancing was still hard, but it was fun.

Darrell was exhausted, that night. His muscles hurt. He was also slightly disappointed. Mrs. Sawyer had outlined the difference between ballroom and social dancing, and he'd hoped to learn the latter. Ally hadn't seemed to disappointed in him. He never wanted to disappoint her, or any girl, like his old man had disappointed Mama.

Darrell looked back at his list. If learning about what they called each other was supposed to help them get together, why in the name of Bugs Bunny did it have to involve something he was so horrible at? Jake hadn't called her a brat that he could hear all afternoon. Well, once. Why couldn't they have taken up dirt biking as children? Or video gaming? But no, they had to be ballroom hopping dancers. He was so disheartened, even his mother commented on it at dinner.

He just had no idea what was going on, but he knew that something good had to come of this. The dance was fast approaching, and he knew that it would be okay. He began to plan what he'd do at the dance in order to get them together. It was his good luck that Mrs. Sawyer had come into his life.

Darrell couldn't believe his luck. Even days later, he still thought about his good luck, and tensed like a prizefighter about to enter the ring. He had made good on his resolution never to go anywhere without his notebook. It had been beneficial, in the extreme, until the one awful moment when he'd thought he'd lost in during gym class. He'd discovered it not ten minutes later by tracing his steps frantically, and pouncing on it like a cat did a laser light.

He was one lucky bastard, that was for sure, both for Mrs. Sawyer, his notebook, and finding it.

He was luckier still. The love of Darrell's life was his computer, aptly named Dora. Dora was the heart and soul of his existence, from his musical pleasures, to Netflix, to homework, and email, and everything. Everything he did was bound up on Dora. with her, he felt whole. She was his horocrux, for lack of a better term. She alone knew that he liked to bargain shop for records and that he often rewatched old episodes of _The Golden Girls_.

So he cried out in surprise when he realized that Dora needed to be brought into the fold regarding his plans. How could he have left her out? He stayed up until 3 a.m. typing and organizing his notes, transferring and organizing them into digital files, and backing them up onto his external hard drive. He realized at 3:07 that he had a speech due the next afternoon. Luckily, he decided to give a speech about the tunnel people in Las Vegas, something he'd recently been reading a bit about.

He flew through the next morning, and raced into the last period on adrenaline and bad cafeteria pizza. He slid into his seat as Miss Hugen began to take role. She was a new teacher, barely out of college, and not in the least bit sexy. He didn't even know if that was possible, but evidently it was. Weren't young teachers supposed to be sexy? It was only after years that they became old and burnt out from their profession. He wondered if she acted like a flighty little thing as an act, of it was just how she was.

After rushing down the hall from the computer lab, he sailed into the room as though he were cool as ice. His gaze flicked to Jake, sitting in the back of the room, and to Sam, one seat over. The two were ignoring each other, not in an angry way, but more of, "I'm a senior and you're a sophomore, and that's the way it is, but I'll look at you when you're talking to Ally..." sort of way.

He slid into a seat behind Daisy the Ditz and her brand new overlord, Heather Mariens. The girls were giggling, and he wanted to crawl in a hole or kill them, until Jake, who happened to be sitting next to him, asked, "We still going tonight?"

Darrell nodded. They'd be planning to go to a junk yard an hour away for ages. He was thinking about all the parts he intended to talk Jake into buying when he heard Sam ask, "So, where're we going?"

Jake replied, "Nowhere." Ah ha! So Jake didn't want to bring Sam along. Could it be because he planned to stop at the craft store on the way back and pick up the pastels she'd used up from her supplies in the garage? Darrell filed that away to wheedle him with later.

"Oh, come on. Brynna's cooking tonight." Sam begged as if that said it all, "Please?"

Jake shook his head, and she looked around him to Darrell, "Hey, Darrell..." Sam beseeched.

The giggling increased, and he was saved from replying to Sam or getting a murder rap when Miss Hugen said, "Who wants to be in charge of the computer?"

Darrell almost wished he didn't have a speech, so he could do offer his mad computer skills to the world. Daisy's hand shot up, and she bounced over to the computer podium with enthusiasm. Miss Hugen's voice lacked that emotion when she plopped into a chair in the back of the room and called, "Mr. Lucas, you're up."

He rose and tossed Daisy his flash drive, naming the file, as was customary for the class, and turned to compose himself. He watched in slow motion as the class began to murmur and laugh. Sam's face became bloodless, as she sat, frozen. Who knew the tunnel people slides could have such an interesting impact on her?

Miss Hugen asked, "Are...you sure this is your topic?" So, all he had to do was talk about the tunnel people to ruffle the old gal. Would that he had known, he could have used that information for bonus points long ago.

Darrell nodded, as the class's volume whispering grew louder. Sam stood, "I'm going to the nurse." Ally grabbed her bookbag and followed Sam silently, shooting him a look of horrible reproach.

Heather said, "Yeah, they don't cure pathetic at the school nurse, Sam."

Daisy added, "Or desperation."

The girls laughed, whispering something about a locker, and a book. Darrell glared at them for a nanosecond.

Darrell turned slightly to look at her Sam as she fled the room, and he caught a glimpse of Daisy's satisfied grin. He spun around and saw the word document open on the screen. It read, in size 12 Times New Roman, bolded, no less, "135 Reasons Sam Loves Jake." Oh, shit. Shit. He sprang towards the computer and nearly fell as Daisy removed his flash drive and tossed it at him.

He wanted to die. No one was ever supposed to see that. He lifted his gaze to meet Jake's and there was nothing in his eyes. Nothing. Not an ounce of fury, not a hint of embarrassment, as he stared at Darrell and the papers in his hand. The shutters had come down. There was nothing there as Jake grabbed his bag and left the room, instructing Miss Hugen to give him a cut.

Darrell followed him, towards the lockers. "Jake?"

There was no reply. "God, man, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

There was no reply as his friend grabbed his hat and threw some notebooks in his bag. "Jake? I didn't plan this. I'm so sorry."

Jake spun around. "Then what the fuck's this?" He thrust a Xeroxed pile of papers at Darrell. It was a copy of his notebook.

"Shit. This isn't..." He stared, horrified, that someone could have copied his notebook. He never let it out of his sight, except during Gym and when it lived in his backpack.

"isn't some sick plot? Some twisted fucking game?" Jake spat. "You know what, fuck you. We're done."

"After ten years, come on, man. I swear, I can explain. People will forget." Darrell prayed they would, anyhow.

"We were never friends if you think I care about fucking people." Jake walked away quickly.

Darrell drove his fist into the locker, and smarted at the pain that rushed through him.

He followed Jake at a distance. He watched in awe as his friend paused at the bathrooms and walked into the girl's room without an ounce of visible trepidation. He couldn't follow. He didn't know what else to do.

He rushed to River Bend. He had to explain, and Jake wouldn't listen. He beat the bus by a good half hour, and watched as Sam flew up towards the barn, and rushed into her father. He said, "What have I told you about running in the barn, Sam?"

"Daddy..." she croaked, "Oh, Daddy."

The change in Wyatt was instant. He wrapped his arms about her, and asked, "What's'a matter, Tumbleweed?"

Sam began to cry, burrowing herself into her father. "I don't..." she hiccupped, "know what to do. I can't fix this."

"Fix what?" Wyatt pushed back her wild hair. "We'll fix it, baby." Darrell's heart broke. Not only for what he'd done to her, but for the relationship she had with her father. It seemed like the one he had with his own mother, who took up both the mantle of Mom and Dad, much like Wyatt seemed to have done. He wished, for once in his life, that he'd had a father to protect him the way Wyatt seemed to be doing for Sam.

"For the rest of my life, I'm going to be known as the girl that was obsessed with Jake Ely who couldn't even get him to look at her, and I..." Sam shuddered.

Wyatt's expression was comical. "Honey, maybe we should go get your Gram, or call Sue, huh? I don't know how boy stuff works..."

Sam scolded her father slightly, as though her reply was obvious, "Daddy, I'm not obsessed with him, but now everyone thinks I am and there's this notebook floating around and I have no idea who wrote it. And..." she sobbed anew, "I'm a pathetic loser, just like they all said. I'm never going back to school. Never."

"Sammy." He father said, "You dry those tears, tumbleweed. You have company..."

"No!" she said, trembling, "I can't talk to him. He said...it would be fine, but it won't. He's not the laughingstock here, I am."

"Sam, Darrell stopped by..." Wyatt began.

Sam cut him off. "No, he's the one who did this. He put this horrible list..."

Finally Darrell could take no more of the pretense of not being there. "I'm sorry, Sam."

She spun around and listened as her father stepped away. She probably didn't realize it, but he was still in earshot, looking ready to kill. Darrell was so tired of courting death. "No you're not. Was it you that wrote that notebook?"

"Yes." He added hastily, "I never meant for anyone to see it, I swear."

"Who told you?" Sam demanded.

His research was his own. He'd only interviewed Quinn. The rest had been observation/participation research. "Told me what?"

"All those lists, all those notes. Nobody knows all of that. Nobody knows that I..."

"that you love him? Sam everyone knows." Darrell tried to comfort her.

"No! No they don't. I know they don't. Because I... This is none of your business, Darrell."

"Yes it is, Sam." He tried again.

"No it isn't." Jake cut in, entering the barn, walking past Wyatt, with whom he shared a quick glance that seemed to speak volumes. How did they do it? He had never figured out where they all seemed to get this creepy level of nonverbal communication. It was like miming, but only with their eyes. Creepy, and chilling, just like Jake's command, "You should leave."

"Oh, so that's how it is?" Darrell arched a brow at him as Jake moved closer to Sam, almost like he was placing himself between the two of them.

"No, let me tell you how it is." Jake said, "What you did to Sam was unforgivable."

He tried to play it cool, chanting in his mind, "I'm a bad boy!" "It's not so bad, really."

"No so bad, really?" Sam shrieked.

"Come on man, you're going to sit there and tell me you didn't know?" Darrell said.

"Shut up, Darrell." Jake said, calmly.

"What I know is that you had no right to stick your nose where it didn't belong." Sam added, "I have a plan, though..."

Eyes turned to Sam as she rambled. "Yeah, I'm going to let Chester take me out. And then everyone'll think that Darrell was crazy or joking with his good friends, and that I have a date that's..."

"Pathetic ploy to make someone else jealous?" Jake said.

"Correction." She said condescendingly, "That I found someone better."

"Chester?" Jake laughed, "Be serious, Sam."

"I am! It's not your life in the gutter." She inhaled, and seethed, "I'm going to be known as the freak that was obsessed with you until the end of time and I can't fix it."

"What's there to fix, Brat?" Jake asked. There it was again, that inflection.

Sam looked calmer, for a second, as if Jake had clued her into something Darrell didn't know. She smiled, but it faded after a second, "If you're not going to help me, you can just leave."

"Alright, look." Jake ran a hand through his hair, "Let's just ignore it."

Sam nodded as if that made sense. "Okay, we'll try that."

After observing their conversation, Darrell only had one reply, "No you won't! You can't!"

"You don't..." Sam began, somewhat angrily.

"Yes, I do! God!" He nearly thundered, "You people are so dense!"

"We people?" Sam spat.

"Yes! Look, I have filled that notebook, and it led me to one answer. I don't care about the fallout, but by God, you'll listen."

Jake spoke for them, nodding.

Darrell said, "You two are strange. It was easy to come up with that list, Sam, and there were at least twice the amount of stuff I left off. You guys love each other, and it's time you faced it."

"Who are you to dictate what we do, Darrell?" Sam asked.

"And when?" Jake said.

He waved his hands, and tried to illustrate his point. "Look. You two need to..."

"Need to what?" Sam began, "What is it that we need to do that we aren't doing?"

"Nothing!" That was the point, couldn't they see? He exploded, "Nothing. You just need to acknowledge it, with each other and other people."

Sam laughed, on a watery sigh, "Is that what this is about?"

She shrugged, "Fine." She looked to Jake. "Jake?"

"Yeah?" He smiled.

"Since he's so nosey..." She jerked her chin towards Darrell, paused, and whispered, "Jerk." Darrell heard something, then, the tone that meant "Always..." Though she only called him a Jerk, what she really meant was "I'll love you always. I have loved you always." Somehow, Darrell knew that in his soul, just like he knew that _Law & Order: SUV_ sucked after the original cast broke up.

Jake smiled, and said, "Brat." There was the same tone, the whispered "forever" in the subtext. Darrell heard it, just like he heard the ringing in his ears. This was hellish, the love and longing he heard in their voices, buried deep underneath the humor and the ease of their friendship. He had been like so many people. He had assumed that declarations needed to be like other people's sappy declarations of love, declarations that came and went faster than a stomach virus, but Sam and Jake weren't other people. They'd been telling each other the whole time, that...Darrell was dumbfounded. "That's what you mean? That's it? You say that, like, all the time." He began to laugh so he wouldn't cry, "For months, I've been trying to get you to say that, and now that I have, I..." He sighed, "How did I miss this?"

Sam's gaze snapped to his, "Darrell, we care about you, but honestly, you really screwed up."

"I know." He admitted. "How can I fix it?"

Sam grinned, "Well, did you happen to make a similar list about Jake?"

Jake groaned, "Brat!"

**I've been working on this for weeks. It's a combination of two ideas I had, so I hope it works. I couldn't resist some high school angst. And well, the dancing, I borrowed from my sister. Like Darrell, I have no rhythm. I did not check with her for dancing beta, and I tried to forget what little I do know to act like Darrell. **

**And yes, I did ditch any sense that we have of cannon before the books start, but... I had to write about a dance teacher who likes crunk. Did it work, even a little? **


	4. Chapter 4

**The books I mention below are real, as is the subject matters. **

Darrell Lucas ran his fingers through his buzzed hair, and brushed imaginary lint off his shoulders. He turned from the car, and walked inside. God, this place gave him chills sometimes. So what if he'd been coming here three times a week since they'd moved here? He slid into a pew after completing the necessary steps, careful to cover his ear as he walked by the red light above a door, and began to pray, the Holy Water that commemorated his Baptism drying on his skin.

No one knew this, but Darrell loved the Church. He didn't love some of the things freaks and abusers did in the name of the Church, but he loved the Church. He felt soothed by the liturgy, uplifted by a lot of the motions that others, like that Fundie Preacher who'd concerned him once, saw as meaningless. Mama always said God was everywhere, but he felt his idea of God in this place. It had taken him a long time to get here, spending many years going through the motions, many years doing things just to piss off Hugh and Earwax.

Darrell struggled with a lot. He never quite knew where his balance was. He never quite felt like his was Catholic enough, but then, sometimes he felt too Catholic. He struggled with a lot of religion, because it often proscribed a way of thinking that Darrell couldn't abide. He was nobody's Borg, not even Il Papa's. He sighed. Sometimes, he didn't even know why he came to Confession, but yet, he wanted to be here. He smiled softly as Sister Ernestine, who was sixty if she was a day, ghosted about the place. She'd unvieled her hair at some point, but hadn't gotten rid of the shapeless blouse and skirt that defined Nun Chic post Vatican II. And to think, his Mama used to wonder if he'd be a Priest himself. No sir. Or Ma'am. Sr. Ernestine was scary.

But, he knew, he was Catholic. He did a lot of the little things that nobody was obligated to do anymore. He supposed his upbringing was a bit traditional, what with going to Catholic School, and Sunday School, and all that shi-stuff. He'd realized something on his first day of Public School. The Spanish teacher had come in, and written on the board, Sr. something or other, and he'd wondered for days why he had written "Sister" on the board and not "Brother" or "Father." He'd never met a male Sister before and Mama explained once he got the courage up to ask her. She still laughed about that.

Mrs. Guntherman always took forever in confession. He hoped, halfheartedly, that she'd hurry up so he could talk to Hugh, and not old man Erwin. Was it a sin to refer to one's priest as Earwax? Well, the dude needed to groom. Every Mass through Catholic School, the poor old Padre had looked like he needed a Q-Tip. Darrell redoubled his focus. He needed to be here, needed to examine himself.

Finally, Mrs. Guntherman removed her stately girth from the small room, much more modern than the tiny booths he hated in grade school. Once, he'd told the visiting priest he was Methodist, because the Methodist kids in school never had to confess and he hated the tiny booth with the passion of a thousand suns. He wasn't exactly proud of that now, he'd gotten a Bible thrown at him, literally, when Earwax heard about it. The old man blustered, "I confirmed you myself you ungrateful..." Blah, blah, blah, and they said Italians had tempers.

He pretended not to see Mrs. Guntherman, knowing that she had likely confessed, just now, the deadly sin of gluttony. He'd be a glutton, too, if he was a baker, like Mr. Guntherman was. Darrell went into the small room that served as the space for confession, and looked at the chair, flopping into it without grace. Some habits were hard to break.

He grinned at Hugh as he straightened up. Hugh did his thing, and Darrell let the words wash over him. After a short time, Darrell spoke, "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned." He waited a beat, thinking, "It has been two weeks and three days since my last confession."

Hugh spoke, "Yes?"

"Father, I..." Darrell sighed, "This whole Father thing freaks me out, Hughey Dewy."

"People don't call me that anymore." Hugh said, "Be serious, or we'll go get Ear-Father Erwin."

"Right. Okay." Darrell let his gaze rise to the Act of Contrition painted on the wall. "I have wished for the death of my grandmother twice. I have committed thoughts and acts of sexual immorality."

"Is that really why you're here?" The young man asked.

"Look, Dewey, this is the bit where you say the words that forgive me." Darrell said, "Not where you probe into my psyche."

"Darrell." The Priest chided.

"Alright." He said, "I don't know the words for this, but I know it's wrong."

The man's expression changed, a tinge of compassion entering his gaze. "God will help you, if you try."

"I...know things I shouldn't know." Darrell said, seriously.

"How is knowledge a sin, Darrell?" Hugh asked, "I can't help you there. God created knowledge." Here he quoted some Scripture.

"It's wrong when you lied to get it!" Darrell interrupted.

Hugh paused, asking, "Did you intend to lie?"

"No, but I did." Darrell confessed.

"Then it's not something you need to confess, not really." Hugh declared, "See, you have to look at your intentions, here, Buddy."

"How you ended up with a brother like Wendell, I'll never know." Darrell grinned. His cousin was a nice guy, much cooler than Wendell, even if he was, like, a celibate geek.

"Focus." Hugh grinned, and Darrell was reminded of all the times that his cousin, 19 older than him, had taken care of him as a child, "Want to talk about it?"

"Something's going on with Sam, Hugh." Darrell said.

"Not this again!" Hugh was at the end of his rope, "You need to stay out of their life, Darrell."

"No, seriously, they're hiding something, or something bigger than what I know, and I need advice..." Darrell spluttered.

"Not in Confession, Darrell." His cousin said, knowing that Darrell knew Confession was not about counseling, not really. Hugh insisted on keeping Confession sacred, separate from anything else. "Want to for a walk, around the grounds? Talking can be your penance until I think about it some. Oh, and for the sexual immorality... " Hugh continued on, and they talked about penance and its theological underpinnings.

Darrell asked, "What about wanting Nonna to die?"

"Pray for understanding, Darrell." Hugh sighed, "And try your best, when you call her this week, not to call her a hag." Damn, Darrell thought. The real penance there was calling the old bat, not being nice to her. He'd had no intention of calling her for ages, maybe not ever.

Darrell nodded, and they wrapped confession up. The spice that was the Act of Contrition hit his tongue as he began, "O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended thee..."

Hugh spoke, with knowing eyes, "God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son..."

Later, Darrell rubbed his hands together to stave off the cold as they walked the long distance between the church and the rectory. "Hugh. She's sick."

"You know this how?" His cousin asked.

"She is. I found a...you know those print outs they give you after doctor's visits?" Hugh nodded, as Darrell continued, "I found one in the visor of Jake's truck, and I read it. Then, when he asked me what I'd been up to, I said I was looking for a Metallica CD."

"Oh?" Damn him and his psychologist's "Oh's." He sounded like Freud. Yes, let's talk about your mother, yes, your mother. See my slippers. Would you like to see my cigar? Ugh. Freud sucked. Damn Freud and his eels. The dude was creepy. Oral fixation, my rumpus, Darrell thought.

Oh. Hugh was staring at him expectantly, awaiting a reply. "I...had to google the words, but I knew. I knew before this. It makes so much sense now. There was the time, ages and ages ago..."

o-o-o-o-o

Darrell walked into the kitchen at River Bend, to find Sam alone, eating lunch. Jake had likely gone back out to the barn, as they were doing something with the horse foot doctor. Who was that? The farrier, he recalled, the farrier.

Darrell sat down next to Sam, and saw the bread plate and the salt shaker by her plate. He glanced at the bowl. He grinned, "Sam, chicken soup, again?"

She looked nonplussed, "It tastes wonderful." She scooped up the final bits of the noodled goodness as though she couldn't bear not to eat every speck of Grace's cooking. He couldn't fault her there.

Still, he wondered. "Any reason why you've eaten it six times in the last three days?"

"That you know of." She grinned.

"Seriously?" He asked, disbelieving.

"I'm on a kick." She said, finishing, and rising to rinse the bowl. When the water was sloshing in the dish, she added, back to him, "Sometimes, food tastes really, really, awesome, and I eat it until I'm sick of it."

"Oh." He didn't get it at all. "Why?"

She grinned, "Oh, I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you..."

He laughed, thinking of all the times she'd done that, all the times that she insisted that this week, carrots were awesome, or that her dinner had to be a certain way for epic awesomeness, and thought nothing more of it.

o-o-o-o-o

"Don't you see, Hugh? It's..." Darrell began, but he was cut off with a soft chide.

"Some soup, Darrell." Hugh insisted, "Soup."

"No! It's a symptom."

"How?" Hugh asked, as though he were scared.

"Well, later that week, Sam did something crazy. I was over at Three Ponies, and well, want to hear the story?"

Hugh's only reply was to shake his head, but by then, Darrell was already speaking, off on some tangent about dinner, and Aunt Carrie cooking some crazy new diet, and somehow that meant going to Three Ponies so he didn't die of hunger.

o-o-o-o-o

Darrell awoke with a start. He was in the bed across from Jake's, Quinn's bed, when he was home from school. There was whispering right across from him. He stayed still, facing the wall, even if his ears did perk up.

Jake sighed, "Brat, Jesus."

"Come on, it wasn't that bad." Sam whispered in return. Holy Hannah! She was in Jake's room in the middle of the night, Darrell wondered. How had she gotten in?

"That bad?" Jake's tone was incredulous, "You went flying across the desert on the back of a wild horse. Again. Alone. Again."

"I needed it, Jake." Sam admitted, "He needed it, too."

"What you need, Sam, is to center yourself." Jake forcefully whispered.

Sam scoffed. "I'm centered."

"Brat." Jake said. "Listen to me. You realize, right, that what you did would scare most people? Most people would feel sort of funny, doing that. You're talking like..."

"I know." She cut him off, hotly, "But since when am I most people?"

Jake sighed, and Darrell could hear the shifting of the bed, the moving of covers."You sure you're not hurt?"

"I'm sure." Sam sighed, and Darrell could hear a pair of boots hitting the floor as well as some other items... Darrell didn't want to go there, not when they were there. What was going on?

After a moment of more movement, Jake asked, "Promise?"

"Why do you keep talking?" Sam said, echoing Darrell's thoughts. He snuck a glance at the clock, it was 2:53. God. "I'm trying to sleep."

After a moment, Jake whispered, "Just want to be sure you're okay."

"I'm okay." She replied, "Hug me tighter, please." Darrell nearly jumped at her casual tone. He barely resisted rolling over.

He could hear Jake mumble, as though he were speaking into something, "If I get a crick in my neck from this tiny bed, I swear..."

"Shush." She moved. Oh. He'd been whispering into her skin. Somehow Darrell just knew. What the heck? "You'll wake Darrell."

He prayed that he'd be able to keep his mouth shut and remember all of this for the notebook. In the morning, that was.

o-o-o-o-o

"See!" Darrell exploded, when Hugh got a look on his face.

"So, they're...sleeping together now?" The priest asked, as they neared the boundary between the Church and the rectory.

"Oh, no." Darrell said, much to his eternal regret. If they were, this whole thing, getting them together, would be so much simpler, " Not like that."

"Then I don't get it." Hugh shook his head, "She's a thrill seeker."

"Because she can't modulate her senses." Darrell supplied, "Like, I read that sometimes, you seek them out, and sometimes, it gets overwhelming."

"I don't think..." Hugh shook his head anew.

"Listen! A few weeks after that fiasco with the list..." Darrell trailed off, "I saw it. I didn't know what I was seeing at the grocery, but..." He sighed, "Well, it actually started with Jake's hoodie..."

o-o-o-o-o

"Brat." Jake looked to her. "What are you wearing?"

"Shirt. Jeans. Hoodie. Shoes." She deadpanned. "All clean, too."

He shook his head, "I've been looking for that hoodie."

"You snooze, you lose." Sam said, going to the coat closet.

"Which means you took it out of my clean wash when I was busy." Jake said, putting on his own coat.

"Whatever." Sam grinned at Jake, and Darrell's heart stopped for a second. Why didn't his idiot friend see it? "Can I borrow your headphones?"

Jake sighed. Darrell could hear a bit of hesitation in his voice, "I don't know where they are, Brat."

"I need them." Sam said, "You have to find them." Sam seemed upset. "They were in your coat, and now they're not. You have to find them."

"Sam. I go lots of places." Jake said, "They're probably in my locker."

"Then I..." Sam trailed off, "Can we stop at River Bend and get mine?"

"Sam, you can have mine." Darrell offered, holding out his headphones. Granted, they were a different style, with the little bumbles on the end, as opposed to being flat in the ear, which she always insisted were superior, but they worked, and they could get the show on the road. He wanted a sample from the bakery, and if they were too late, he wouldn't get it, either because they were really gone or Mrs. Guntherman would've cleaned her husband's sample box out. He'd gone so far as to beg her, once, for a muffin, but the normally jovial woman had turned him away because he was 20 minutes late. She'd probably eaten it by then.

"No." She said forcefully, adding after a beat, "No, no thank you. Sorry, but no thanks. No."

"I got it after one no, Sam." He said, not offended, but rather confused.

She ran her fingers over the horsehair bracelet on her wrist. "Jake." She said, "My plan blew up."

"We can stop for yours." Jake, paused, thinking, "We should get some DayQuill while we're out." Jake said.

"Why?" She asked, calming, though her fingers still twisted the bracelet.

"You're getting sick." Jake said, propelling her to the door with a hand on her hip, as though he could look at her and see a cold brewing. His mom could predict when he was getting sick, but that was standard for mothers, right? Not male best friends.

"I am not!" She huffed, "I'm healthy as a horse."

"Yeah, a horse with equine flu." Jake said.

"You're mean." She said, finding her iPod in her pocket.

"And you're getting sick." Jake sighed, "I wish you'd stay home."

"Why?" Sam grinned.

Jake didn't pick up on her teasing, instead he opened the truck door for her. "Because you could rest."

"Why?" She pressed. Sam got in, although it seemed she was avoiding touching the car, instead she settled herself in the front seat, leaving Darrell to sit in the back.

He rolled his eyes. "Rest is good."

"Why?" Sam whined, almost, as Jake got in and started the Scout.

He grinned, finally catching on. "Really want to do this?"

"No." She laughed, "I just feel like bugging you. You ate my cookie at lunch today."

"He's a growing boy, Sam." Darrell smiled.

"And you owed me." Jake added.

Sam frowned. "What for?"

"I'm coming to the theme park with you, aren't I?" Jake said.

He prepared to turn off onto the main road. As he did, Sam's center of balance shifted, and she almost leaned into Jake's space. She was probably a bit dizzy, or something. God knew he was dizzy from lack of baked good, Darrell thought. She was such a great buddy.

But maybe not, Darrell thought, as Jake's hand steadied her, and Sam thanked him with a small smile. She pressed her hand over the place he'd touched, not rubbing, but pressing. Darrell wondered what was going on as Sam's gaze lowered with her reply to his earlier question, "Aw, you know you love it." She teased, "The Tea Cups?"

"Whatever." He said, sounding something like a mean girl. Darrell grinned.

"Can I come?" Darrell asked. He loved roller coasters.

"If you want to put up with Tess and Marty, yeah." She added, "Brynna's parents." With that, Sam dug in the glovebox, returned triumphant with headphones, and put them in her ears. She zoned out after that. Jake snuck a few glances at her, Darrell saw. After a few moments, she pulled off her coat and shoes, and wiggled her sock clad toes into the carpet of the Scout. Darrell was slightly taken aback, until he realized something.

Sam wasn't like other girls. She was a buddy, and a buddy liked their comfort. It was on the Bro Code, even. After she disgustedly tossed her coat over the seat, she seemed to be slightly more at ease, even if she did curl into the seat slightly. Her humming wasn't even off key. He wondered, fleetingly, though, why all the songs sounded the same, at least in her hummed version. Maybe she was working on singing a song.

Jake, for his part, didn't say anything. He simply turned up the heat in the cab.

o-o-o-o-o

"Do you get it now, Hughey Dewey?" Darrell said, opening the door to the Rectory.

The Father shook his head, removed his coat, and flipped on the kettle. "No."

"First, she got all funny about new headphones." Darrell sat down and tried to ignore the gaze of San Lorenzo. The guy had had guts. Who called out to their killers, "Turn me over! I'm done on this side!" like that? For all his guts, he got to live in kitchens. Darrell thought maybe he should write the Pope and see about getting Lorenzo a better placement, like Saint of Manly Men barbeques or something, but the Pope wasn't so very concerned about American perceptions of gender, was he?. He spoke as his thoughts rambled on "Second, she wanted Jake to touch her. Third, she hummed."

Hugh frowned, stirring sugar into his Twinnings. "So she likes her stuff, loves that boy, and likes music. You're reading too much into it."

"She was knew the headphones would feel differently, funny, because she was feeling too much, at that point. She was using avoidance behaviors. The humming was stimming. Jake was grounding her."

"Stimming?" Hugh asked, "Buddy, I've met Sam Forester. She's not autistic."

Like you could tell just by looking at someone, Darrell's mind scoffed. Google had told him that, you would think Hughey would have learned that in Grad School. But Grad School was probably why he thought he knew better than anyone. "Not all people who stim are autistic." Didn't Mr. Hughey know anything after all that education? "I read that. Actually, I stole the book from Mr. Forester."

"Darrell!" His cousin blurted.

"Didn't I mention that in Confession?" He said, softly, "Guess I forgot. Sorry."

"Darrell." Hugh said, "But, explain. Stimming isn't always a sign of negative emotion. People stim because it can be fun, because they're happy, bored, tired, whatever." Hugh was confused where Darrell was going with this whole Jake thing. Stimming didn't need to be redirected, it wasn't bad. "What do you mean, grounding? Like...?" Hugh knew he would try to get involved if there was enough evidence that her family and friends didn't know enough. He knew it was bad, but maybe he could talk to her. Make sure she was okay... But it probably wasn't stimming. Darrell was off on another flight of fancy.

"Geez, you're sex starved!" Darrell joked. "They should let you get married, Sister Ernestine is really a lovely Bride of Christ. Although, you and Earwax, here...alone..." Darrell flicked her eyes to the tea pot, and to Hugh's cable knit sweater.

"Shut up." Hugh kindly said. At least he was a good sport. "Earwax..."

"Ugh." Darrell shuddered, "Grounding. It's easier if I tell you what I saw. I left the book in the car with my notebook. I don't know if it's a real word. It's just what I saw."

Hugh's only reply was to groan. He didn't understand the beauty of the notebook.

o-o-o-o-o

The shopping trip was interesting. Out in the parking lot, Sam had pulled up the zipper on her coat. Jake had done something odd, though. He asked her flat out if he could touch her. Sam grinned widely as Jake took ten seconds to wrap his arms around her in a huge hug. It wasn't a friendly or a romantic hug. Rather, it simply seemed to be purely for the touch of it. He hugged her in the same way Wyatt had, almost, though there were tiny differences he couldn't pinpoint. Sam relaxed after a second, and they walked in the store. Darrell shook his head. What the heck was that?

He couldn't ask, though, because the store was crowded and Darrell hated having to buy things like arugula when Peanut Butter Captain Crunch was so much more awesome. But Mama had demanded it, so he would do it. He set to trailing Sam. Once they entered the throng of people, Sam's hand wrapped around Jake's. Woah, he thought, progress.

She tapped her feet along the aisles, not dancing exactly, but doing what she always did, moving her feet along as she did on the ranch, almost as if she were dancing. She did it all the time, an he couldn't help but smile. Sam really must have been tired, though, because he often saw that her eyes closed for a fleeting second after she blinked, as though she were holding them shut.

He lost them for a few minutes, simply because Jake shopped by a system. They'd started at one end, and were working slowly over towards the other end. When Sam had taken him shopping, they'd done the same thing. Sam had been almost ticked off that she'd forgotten something, he recalled, and had to go back for Nutella. Maybe she'd adapted to Jake's stodegy way of shopping. Darrell couldn't shop like that, though, and prefered a more organic approach.

Still, he was taken aback by all of the little touches there seemed to be. Who knew a grocery order could foster bonding?

o-o-o-o-o

"See? She uses Jake to center herself. It's something about a vestibular system or other, it goes with the thrill seeking, I read." Darrell added, "Jake lets her do it a lot, I think. But only because they're losers who don't realize they're soulmates. She wanted him to touch her, as much as he wanted to touch her."

Hugh looked at him speculatively, "Is that why you were so upset when she didn't like dancing with you?"

"I wasn't upset!" Darrell corrected, "And you should know better than to repeat the things I say in confession."

"I wasn't wearing my collar." Hugh smirked, sipping his tea.

"Whatever." Harty Har Har, Darrell thought, like that joke wasn't as old as Methuselah. "Look. I didn't need to ask. I deduced it."

"Who're you, Sherlock Holmes?" His cousin asked.

He snorted and tore into one of Earwax's beloved cookies. "Please, I'm not in love with my blogger."

"Darrell." His cousin shook his head at the desert.

"Okay." He swallowed, and sighed, part bliss of the sugar, partly from exasperation, "Look. I figured it out. If she feels things, deeply, then it's likely she's got some kind of way... Like, all the times she helps Jake with his tracking because she's... I think the word is hypersensitive..."

Hugh interjected into Darrell's ramble, "So it's a good thing for her. I don't see why you think she's sick, then." He paused for a second, thinking, "All you've told me is that she likes the same foods, sometimes, gets a bit stuck in her ways, sometimes, but other times lets her hair down. Sometimes, she wants to be touched, but sometimes not. She sounds pretty normal."

"I'm not saying she's not! All I'm saying is that you have to look at the why, the system..." Darrell thought, "You wouldn't even know, unless she told you, or you observed, but it does affect her life."

"So does your ragweed allergy, and I don't see you trying to define yourself by it." Hugh said.

"Hugh." He insisted, "That's not like this!"

"Tell me, then, how is it different?"

"Oh, if you wanted to be an abnormal psychologist, you should have gone into practice."

"Who says I'm not?" He grinned, "Besides, the Church paid for my education, even my Pys.D in Clincal" He stressed his specialization, "Psychology."

Darrell was silent as his cousin continued, "People adjust, Darrell. People are remarkably resilient." Hugh said, "She may not have always been fine after that accident, but she is, it seems to me now, more normal than you."

"Hey!" He said, indignant.

"You clearly wanted my professional opinion. Now, let's go back to the stealing, huh?"

"Geez." Darrell sighed as his cousin shifted into Priest mode, "Okay, so that was a total accident."

"You took something that wasn't yours." Hugh corrected.

"So remember last week at dinner when I said that Jake was pissed at me again because that" here he quoted his confessor "innapropriate behavioral choice led me to screw up two of the best friendships I had?"

"I thought you apologized, and got off easy because..." He paused, "How?"

"The whole school forgot about them because someone got busted with Meth. It was Hailey Hornbacker's baby daddy."

"Oh." Hugh sighed, sad that Darrell seemed glad he'd gotten off easy because the poor girl was suffering.

"Look, it went down like this before I saw everything..."

o-o-o-o-o

It all started because they thought they'd outfoxed him. They thought they'd bamboozled him. Well, you don't bamboozle the bamboozler. He'd been pulling stuff over on people since he was in utero. He didn't need to be told that he'd made a huge tactical error in buying into their moment in the barn. He'd been sucked in, like a liposuction tube, and he'd fallen. Well, no more.

Nothing had changed. They'd shrugged, like he was crazy, and got to work in the barn. Nothing had changed, and not a soul was talking about them at school because some girl had to go and get knocked up just as her baby daddy got arrested. Well, in some ways that was helpful to him, because it took the heat off his blunder. Thank god for broken condoms. Well, actually, no, Darrell thought, that she should never happen. Just the thought of it set him to sweating.

He knew, that everything being the same ol' same ol' was not good. He'd failed at the first rule of debate. The definition of terms. Darrell was a good debater, and had done debate camp with the Y all through elementary school. He had nothing better to do. He'd failed though, because he hadn't made them define their feelings, only admit to caring. Well, he could fix that, and he would. He needed to set up some parameters though.

Darrell had been, at the moment this all started, flipping through his notebook. He was trying to look at his behavioral section to see about how to do this. He'd kept a list of their behaviors toward each other. He started with Sam, simply because she was a girl, and weren't all girls emotional? Well, he looked down, and turned back to keyboard. Something wasn't adding up, but what was it?

He shut his notebook, and firmly leaving it behind, headed over to Three Ponies. Walking onto the porch Three Ponies, he heard Mr. Forester speaking to Mrs. Ely. He stopped on the porch as their words hit his eardrum. "She's having a bad couple of days, Max. I don't know that..."

Mrs. Ely spoke, "Can I do anything?"

"I'm thinking a bit of leeway..." He trailed off, "But, really, she's handling it. I'm trying to respect that. I wouldn't mention it, unless she does."

"Of course." Mrs. Ely said, and the conversation shifted away from whatever they'd been talking about. Darrell stood on the porch, unsure as to who they were talking about, and why. He played it cool, going inside with the footfall of an elephant.

Mr. Forester excused himself after a moment, forgetting his coat and books. When Mrs. Ely left to walk with him to the car, under the guise of checking on her chickens, Darrell's gaze fell upon a book on the table. It was entitled, _Out of Sync Child_. Darrell thought that that sounded like him, so he leafed through another book, because it was on top of the first. _Your Child's Sensory Signal_s was easy to look at, with Q&As. Just as he realized that some, most, were highlighted. They included topics like, "Avoids Parties" and "Craves Certain Foods" and "Prefers Big Bear Hugs" and "Prefers Animals to People" and "Enjoys Singing to Self" and "Craves Fast Movement" or "Never Walks-Dancing, hopping, skipping..." or "Gets upset in Grocery Store" he realized that Mrs. Ely was coming back, so he did what he had to do, and stuffed the book into his pocket.

o-o-o-o-o

Hugh nodded, "So that's where you got this idea."

"Yeah, I mean it makes perfect sense." He concluded. "I made a list."

"Buddy..." Hugh said, "How do you know they were talking about Sam?" He poured himself another cup of Everyday Tea, and added two Sweet n' Lows to it with a practiced tear.

"They were!" He asserted, "The differental fits!"

"Been watching too much _House _lately?" Hugh grinned.

"There's no such thing." He asserted, "Still, it makes sense."

"I suppose, but you could attribute all those factors to any number of things, really. Most every girl who lives on a ranch likes animals, and maybe she just likes to move because she danced." Hugh clearly had his psychologist face on, and Darrell felt compelled to point out his error.

"No, because Mr. Forester had read the whole thing and made really personal notes in the margins. They sent her to dance lessons as a kid to help her learn about her body and manage her symptoms." Darrell sighed, "He really loves her, man. How'd we get stuck with such a fucked up family?"

"I don't know, Dare." He said, using Darrell's childhood nickname. "But I do know, despite your father, you're a good man. Make amends. Give back the book, and go to Sam. Talk to her, don't sneak around."

"I know..." Darrell began, but was cut off by the screen door opening. Hugh rose and put away the cookies, turning back to Darrell with a accusing expression on his face.

Darrell groaned, "Earwax!"

The Priest in question heard him as he entered the communal kitchen, and asked, "I beg your pardon, Mr. Lucas?"

He wished, then, that San Lorenzo was the patron saint of impossible causes, and not St. Jude. There was no way out of this that wouldn't end badly. He resolved to go talk to Sam as soon as he got out of here.

**I really like Hugh. I based him off a Sister I know well. Let me know what you think. This was written ages ago, and now I finally get to post it. Note that Sam's symptoms don't really effect her life. She'll educate Darrell in the next update, as he's being very Darrell-ish about his findings. He also has to repair some things with Jake, because, obviously, he'll stick his foot in his mouth about Rachel Slocum. **


	5. Chapter 5

**More Darrell. A/N Below. **

Driving over to Three Ponies, Darrell realized that Sam was his friend, right down to their shared hated of Nutella. He hadn't known that, and he was floored. He agreed with Sam and from that tiny detail, his mission had been born. How was it possible to have a friend who was a girl? More to the point, who thought hazelnut, chocolate, and coffee flavored spread that was brown looked appetizing on a piece of bread? And the smell, the smell. It was worse than the time Jake had roped him into cleaning out the septic tank at Three Ponies.

What kind of father was Luke? Who thought making their kid clean up literal crap was a learning experience? It was like that time his mother made him do all the cooking for a week because he'd complained about some dish or other from her healthy diet book. It was horrible, and he'd blocked the entire experience from his memory, just like the time Deetz had said his mother was hot. Sam didn't pull stunts like that, and she hated Nutella. Maybe she was a better buddy than he'd realized.

He'd promised to help clean out a storage shed and then later, he'd go talk to Sam, unless she showed up to help. It seemed there was always work to do, and doing it was some of the only time he got to see Jake. His friend had a very strange definition of fun. He liked to always be doing something constructive, and they weren't working on another car until they sold the Charger.

In any case, they began to work, once he got there. Well, Jake worked. Darrell provided free entertainment and hefted a box or two. They were moving around boxes when Mrs. Ely came out, saying, "Jake, where's Sam?" He looked up, a how should I know look on his face. His mother continued from the doorway, adept at reading her child. "Wyatt's looking for her. She was supposed to be back from Jen's two hours ago."

Jake paused, picking his way through the boxes. Max finished, "I'll just go tell him you don't know and not to worry. She should be..."

He interrupted her. "Tell Wyatt she'll be home." He scowled, stalking towards the barn. Mrs. Ely looked relived as she watched her son walk away, if somewhat concerned.

Darrell shrugged and followed lamely, after a moment of thinking Jake had just gone to call her. "Where're we going, Jake?" Darrell waked into the barn to find Jake grabbing tack and bidding him to follow. Throwing the blanket and saddle over Witch, and doing the tack up with haste and finality, he bit off, "We're going Pest hunting."

Darrell frowned, trying not to drop the saddle in his arms. Jake was pissed. He was using that word. This was not good. Not good. Very Bad. Darrell asked with no small amount of hesitation. "What do you mean?"

Jake finished with Witch and began saddling up Frankie, who Darrell greeted. He loved the old man, and was glad to see that Jake had brought him in for some reason. The implication hit him like a thunderbolt. Frankie was the only horse Darrell could handle well under speed and rougher terrain, and he inwardly cringed. Jake was angry, though his movements around the horses were calm and controlled. His voice was calm and kind, but his words displayed his sentiment in way that no tone ever could."I mean she was riding out today, supposedly to get out a little."

"Do you think she lied?" Darrell asked, as he led Frankie out to the yard.

"No," Jake began as he mounted up, "I think she was getting out to get into trouble. The Olsen's are in. There's not a worse time for it. After all, what's it been, a week?"

That sarcasm didn't bode well for this mission and Darrell wondered if Jake's spidey sense was tingling or something. Darrell wondered how Jake knew to find Sam, but then he realized that he was relying on the fact that he knew her and his tracking skills to come together.

Eventually, though, they found themselves following a set of tracks over the open range towards Lost Canyon through War Drum Flats. Darrell thought Lost Canyon was beautiful, but it was also scary, full of nooks and crannys, not to mention uneven terrain that made him grip the saddle with his thighs until they hurt. Why would Sam go there? Horses, his mind cried, why else. Even Darrell knew that.

It was a nice day, and he thanked God for that. It was starting to warm up, slowly. Soon, the dregs of winter would fade away, and spring would be here in earnest. It was actually really warm right now. In the meantime, Darrell was glad that they were slowing down in order to make the descent into the Canyon. Darrell was as silent as Jake, who was scanning the skyline, and down into the canyon without care for the illness Darrell experienced when he looked down. He was going to fall, fall and die, and die, die, die die, like Sherlock, except, you know that it was impossible that Sherlock would really die and leave John behind. Oh, why, Darrell wondered, was he doing this? Why hadn't Jake left him behind? The fool probably thought this was fun, male bonding or something. No! They were supposed to play video games and get smashed and talk trash, not risk life and limb across the range.

Once they reached a level spot in the trail, Jake took out his binoculars and scanned the area, cursing when he found nothing. Darrell was just glad to have a moment to sit still. He was not an accomplished rider. "Why are we here?" Darrell asked.

"Because she is..." Jake shook his head in disgust. "and she's up to something."

Their descent continued, with Jake following Darrell as a safety measure. Great, if he fell to his death, Jake would have a front row seat. After a few more moments, they were at the bottom. The terrain wasn't much better, not really. The tracks were more obstructed by the sandy bottom of the canyon. Jake was not deterred. He did whatever it was that he did, and urged Witch skillfully over the ground at a walk.

The tracks got clearer, and Jake paused, holding up a hand in a shushing sign. Darrell didn't even breathe. His ears perked because Frankie's did, when he heard something. Before he could say anything, Jake heard it, too, and urged Witch forward. Frankie followed dutifully.

"Sam?" Jake called.

There was a yelp, and they turned around a rock formation to find Sam, muddied, clothes mussed and jeans ripped at the knee riding towards them. She was mounted up, and grinned at Jake as she headed in their direction. "Hey."

"Where have you been?" Jake demanded.

"Cool it." Sam snapped, "I'm coming home now." Woah, she was in a bad mood. Darrell grinned. She was so much fun when she left her filter at home. Once, she'd told Darrell exactly what she thought of Rachel Slocum, though she'd stopped short of saying why she felt the way she did.

"Do you realize how many people you put out today, being so late?" Jake asked as she passed them and they turned around to head home.

She didn't speak for a few moments, and Darrell wondered if she was ignoring Jake. Finally, she spoke, "I was distracted." Sam said primly, as they rode along.

"By what?" Darrell couldn't help asking, as Jake was silent. It seemed, knowing Jake, that once he discovered Sam was just pulling a stunt, some of the fear had become anger. Hence, Darrell thought, his silence. That was it! No more novels! No more essays! No more hence! God, he needed brain bleach.

They rode along in silence for a time, for which Darrell was grateful, as his attention was centered on making it out of the canyon alive. Frankie seemed to be laughing at him, but the old man could do as he pleased so long as he got Darrell back on level ground safely. He'd hoof it home if he had to, but unlike Sam, he wasn't a dab hand at scaling cliffs. Once at the top, they rode along for a few moments more, until Sam spoke softly, "A non-venemous snake bite." Sam said, over the low ambient noise of the horses.

"What?" Darrell said.

"I said it wasn't posionious, Darrell." Sam said, "I was taking pictures on the other side of the lost canyon I had to get down to get the shot, and, next thing I knew...guess I wasn't aware of my surroundings." She shrugged, "Completely harmless, though I've got a scrape. I should clean it."

Darrell could see Jake bite back words. His friend eventually settled on, "You sure?"

"Yes." Sam sighed, "Look, were almost at River Bend. See you."

She moved to urge Ace into a faster gait towards his home, and Jake would have none of it. "The Olsen's are in."

Sam cried, "Already?"

"Yup." Jake said, "Seems to me you should get that looked at."

They were in the yard by the time she replied. Was she sulking about something? She finally said, "Fine. I could do it myself, but I'll go find Dallas."

"He's with your Gram. I'll do it." Jake said.

With that, Pepper appeared and offered to see to Ace. Uncharacteristically, Jake agreed as Sam spluttered in shock, putting weight on her right foot. Jake glared at her, and scooped her up, walking towards the house calmly.

Darrell followed after Pepper took over Frankie, eager to spend time with the old man. He saw the glare on Sam's face and watched with alarm as she cried out, "Scuff the threshold!"

"Supersticions..." Jake said, mockingly. Why was she insisting he pretend to trip? Had the bite addled her brain? Was it like, the Dark Mark or some potion, or something, you know, that after a time your brain just went boom! and turned to mush like Professor Lockheart's or Bellatrix Black-Lastrange's? He always believed that Voldemort was diseased in more ways than one.

"Hey, you want to anger the Gods of Ancient Rome, be my guest." Sam said. "They need to know we're not serious, after all."

"I think you have it messed up." Jake said, crossing the yard.

"No, I don't." From the bridal style carry, she called, "Darrell, am I mistaken?"

Still, Jake did as she asked before he could reply. What was she talking about? Sam called out, "Dad!" from the kitchen, Darrell skidding to a stop behind her. "Sorry I'm late."

"Oh?" He called and she could hear the anger in his voice, speaking over her grandmother, who replied cheerfully, "Honey, come say hello to Marty and Tess.'"

Jake deposited her on the edge of the kitchen table, and knelt before her, concerning himself with rolling up the her jean cuffs. She said, "You're being ridiculous!"

"Samantha Anne!" Her father corrected her.

"Not you, Dad!" Sam cried, glaring at her friend, who was deftly folding and creasing the worn denim.

"I'm checking for swelling." Jake replied, tugging at the laces of her boots.

"I just need to go wash it, it'll be fine." Sam said.

"What is going on in here?" A woman asked from the opposite door. What Darrell saw almost made him laugh. In front of him was a stylish elderly woman, obviously monied in that way that she thought everyone needed to know about. In other words, new money. Nonna knew enough women like that for Darrell to be able to spot them at 50 paces.

"Hello, Mrs. Olsen." Sam said, resignedly, as Jake's hands skimmed her ankles as he removed her shoes, tugging off her short boots and allowing them to hit the floor with a thunk.. "How are you?"

The woman looked on speculatively, as Jake rose to get something. "What are you doing?" Sam cried laughter bubbling up from her as Jake touched her bare feet, running his hand over her feet. "Oh, my God. No." She laughed. So, Sammy was ticklish. Darrell leaned against the door jamb and smiled.

The woman gaped, and Marty, her reserved husband, it appeared, looked on enigmatically. God, he needed to stop reading, Darrell thought. It was rotting his brain and destroying his cornucopia of pop culture references.

Finally, Wyatt got up to see what the fuss was. "Sammy?"

"Hi, Dad." She said sheepishly, "Sorry I'm late."

"What's up?" He asked conversationally, flicking his gaze over the tableau before him. That's it, Darrell's mind screamed, nothing more highbrow than Bevis and Butthead for a week.

"Oh, er..." Sam began. "Yes, you see...Well, Jen and I... That is..." Sam fumbled, "Daddy! It was like this, see..."

"I take it, then, Sam, that some of your more sensible friends know nothing of this mystery venture?" Tess interrupted.

"Sensible friends?" Sam blubbered. Darrell tried not to laugh as she quickly glanced at Jake, who seemed to be taking an awfully long time examining the bite on the outside of her ankle, even as he slipped away to find the first aid kit.

"The one you were telling me about, Grace." She said, forgetting that Grace was still in the living room, "The neighbor boy. I don't suppose..." she flicked a speculative glance at Darrell, "that this is he?"

Darrell shook his head, playing up his aw shucks look at me I'm adorable vibe, "No, Ma'am." This was glorious. Her family mentioned Jake, as a "sensible guy" a "neighbor boy?" They totally shipped Sam and Jake, too! He crowed inside.

"Interesting." The woman mused, "Anyway, you musn't let me interrupt your girlfriend."

"Why," Sam blurted, "would I date Darrell? Or Jake, for that matter?"

"I'm getting real tired of being disparaged..." Darrell snapped, just because he could. Wait. Disparaged! He'd said disparaged! No more novels. That was it. He would have to relinquish his street cred if things kept on as they were. Bah! He began to run though every factoid he knew, hoping he could stop using such big words.

"Darrell!" Sam hissed.

"You can go back to being Cleopatra when Jake gets back with the first aid kit." He soothed. She was in such denial. He laughed at his own joke.

"I am in pain, here!" Sam cried, "And you're not being nice."

"You just said you weren't." A voice said from the left.

Darrell saw a chance to help both of his buddies out. "She's a habitual liar, Ely. She just said..."

"Darrell!" She cried, anew.

"Set. Point. Match." He gloated.

The older man asked interestedly from the doorway."You play tennis, son?"

"No, I just liked _Wimbledon_. Kirsten Dunst, and all." The man looked confused and Darrell thought it better to let it be as Wyatt cut him a glance.

"You need better friends, Jake." Sam said.

"Uh huh." He said, flipping open the first aid kit and walking into the room. "Wyatt, did Sam tell you..." His friend began hesitantly. He paused with a soft look of embarrassment as he looked around the room and saw the company. "Oh."

"Nevermind us, son!" Marty chortled, "Samantha seems to be getting to the crux of the issue."

The whole room was silent as she said, "Got a bit of a scrape."

"Should'a known you'd say that." Jake said.

"You're being a drama queen." She said, as she saw the ointment and gauze pad for application. "I already dumped a bottle of water on it, stop fussing!"

He disagreed, calmly, finding what he needed. "You're not qualified to evaluate snake bites. We need to rinse this."

"I just said I already did. I know my body, Jake. No nausea. No dizziness. No sweating." Sam listed. "Plus, it was not a venemous snake."

"You're probably fine, Sammy..." Wyatt said, "But let him look it over just the same."

"Dad. Look. I can handle it." She said, as Jake did whatever he was doing, "Can we move forward, please?"

"This is like a Western film, Tess." The elderly man cried.

"Hush, Marty." Tess said, "I'm watching."

"So, then, what happened?" Wyatt ventured.

"It was very simple." Sam said, "I was out."

"Alone." Jake cut in, from below her.

"Look, if I need commentary, I'll call you." She said, after a beat, "That hurt."

He mumbled something only she could hear. Sam said, "So I was out. Because." She mumbled something again. What was it with all the mumbling?

Her father spoke as they were waiting for her to find her words. "Where is Jen?"

Sam frowned, staring towards Darrell, over Jake's shoulder. "With Ryan."

Even from the doorway, Darnell could see it. Jake's jaw twitched. "Explain." Points. But wait. He'd not earned those. What was this? Did he get to keep them?

"She wanted to hang with him, and they..." Sam mumbled something, and continued, "so I went on our ride, then I saw the shot, and I just had to get it. Then, viola, snake. It took me a bit longer to get home." She was the Queen of the Mumblers, that was for sure. He'd needed to write this down in the notebook. Maybe there was a pattern or something.

Darrell added. He'd figured he owed it to the bro code. "Because you were on the opposite side of the Lost Canyon."

"When you caught up to me, I was nearly on my own land." She said, glaring at him.

"You were not." Jake disagreed. "And it's your father's land."

"Damned patriarchy." She added, softly, "I'll just have to wait till Duncan marries me, then."

"I thought Seasme Street was in Brooklyn." Jake said, finding another tube, and spreading some on his fingers. "Not much land there, unless you count a walkup."

Sam replied, "I'll have you know he has a lovely little farmette." She paused as Jake rubbed Neopsporin over her skin, "Perfect for alpacas, too."

"Yeah, well. Good luck with that." Jake said, unruffled, He lifted two band-aids, "SpongeBob or Flicka?"

"Flicka." Sam said, trying to take the packet from him. He evaded capture, and opened the horse themed band aids over her skin.

As he did, Helen asked, "Is Duncan your boyfriend, then, Samantha?"

"No, Mrs. Olsen." Darrell could not resist telling her the truth, "She just uses him for..."

"Darrell!" Sam cried, cutting him off. She had a really dirty mind, he gathered. He had to remember to write that down. "No, ma'am. We're merely good friends."

"I'm sorry dear." The woman murmured, "My Bryn told me you were dating. Naturally, you can forgive my curiosity."

"Of course. I don't know why she..." Sam floundered.

Darrell snorted. Where they really that stupid? Jake must not be, though, because he cut a glance toward Darrell as he found Sam's socks. He flipped it and put it on her inside out, even as Sam said she didn't need help. At his snort, she said, "Shut up, Darrell."

"Sammy, language!" Wyatt hastened.

"Sorry." She said, as though she really wasn't. Figures.

"What" Wyatt began, "is going on here?"

Sam sighed, "Jake?"

"Uh-uh, Brat." He said, finding one of her boots under the table, "This is your dog and pony show."

"My dog and pony show?" She screeched, "Dog and pony show?"

"Samantha." Her father warned. "You know I can't let this go, right?"

She swallowed, nodding.

"Two weeks. No going out without someone okay'ing it. And Jake doesn't count. Oh, and..." Wyatt said, "For that stunt a while back, sneaking over to Kenworthy's, another week."

"You thought she was at Jen's?" Darrell blurted as the entire kitchen fell silent. He wished the floor would open up and swallow him. Everyone was glaring at him like he was the one who'd obviously lied about being at Jen's when she was at Three Ponies.

He dove desperately for a save, praying he could make like Andy Augusty, "Oh, right. Jen's! I was thinking she was at Rachel's! She was at Jen's! Of course! All night. Alone. No, not alone! With Jen. Jen!"

"Why would I be with Rachel?" Sam asked tightly as Jake stood up, "We're not friends, and she's in Suffolk."

"I must've been deranged!" He prayed that if they found him non corpus mentis, that they wouldn't kill him for outing whatever they'd been up to, "To the barn!"

Wyatt thought for a second. "On that note, then, Sam. A month for spending the night with the wild horses. And we will talk about this. In detail, much as I'd rather..." Darrell's mind began to run through the things he was sure Wyatt would rather do. It was kind of fun.

"Dad!" Sam begged.

"Would you care to make it two months, no recreational riding at all, no Jen, and no Jake?"

"Well, you're welcome to Jake." She said. Changing her mind at her father's glance, she amended, "No, but..."

Her father asked, calmly, "Yes?"

She asked, as though truly curious. "Why am I being punished?"

"Reckless endangerment." Her father finally replied, settling on some words.

"Okay." Sam nodded, evidently they meant something to Sam.

"Okay?" Her father ventured.

"I apologize." Sam said.

Wyatt looked like the moment in that movie, the one where the main character, goes, "WHAT?" in a horribly exaggerated manner. "You apologize?"

"Yes." Sam hopped down from the table, "May I go now?"

"May you go...now?" Wyatt spluttered.

"Dad, are you having an aneurism?" Sam hammed it up. Darrell could have kissed her for her daring. But he didn't, frankly, because the idea was gross. She was a buddy. You don't kiss your buddies, his mind screamed frantically.

"Sam, go." Wyatt demanded, "Before I..."

They went.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

History class was so boring, so he flipped a page in his notebook and tried to think about his current plan. He had to prove that Sam was a buddy, and that whole thing with her feet hadn't helped his quest. She was completely fine, and still, Jake had tended to her like a fussy goose, like his mom said. She was a buddy, and she was Jake was his friend, but damn if he'd let Jake kneel at his feet, take off his shoes, and go all boy scout on a tiny wound.

Still, he'd tried to make progress, and realized that Sam wasn't much of a girl, so she must be a buddy. She didn't get fussy, she didn't eat crap food, she didn't whine about snakes being evil. She was a buddy, and Jen's roping her into a pool party that the whole school was abuzz with had helped him find evidence.

Thinking back to a few days ago, Darrell had been bound and determined to talk to Sam. Unfortunately, he walked into a conversation and so he could't ruturn the book and book it. Hugh had asked him about it last night at dinner. Where was the line then, huh? He guessed it only exsisted when it suited Hughie Dewey. What rot.

He paused, ears peaking as Jen was saying, "Sam, come on! I haven't asked you to do this! Ever!"

"But you're asking now?" Sam inquired.

"Yes!" Jen emphasized, from around the corner, somewhere in the pasture.

Sam reminded her tonelessly, "I'm grounded."

"Oh, come on. You just don't want to go to the party." Jen wheedled, "Your Dad said you could."

"He did?" Sam seemed surprised.

Jen said smugly, "You can thank Brynna."

"Yeah." Sam sounded glum. She really was awesome, he thought, but then, he wondered at the seeming tension between Sam and Jen. Jen was hardly around anymore, it seemed, and Sam was hesitant with her friend in a way that Darrell had never seen, almost as though she was afraid ot put a foot wrong. What was going on with the girls? Was there tension flaring up between them? Darrell recalled his list in the notebook about Sam's mumbles, and he wondered if this conversation had anything to do with it.

Jake walked up to him just then, and when they joined the girls in playing with the horses, he couldn't help but ask, "So, what's this about a par-tay?"

"Why do you say it like that, Darrell?" Jen snapped.

He drawled, "Because it ticks you off, Jen-nay."

"Ugh." She tugged her braid, and asked Sam, "Are you coming?"

"It's important to you?" She clarified, and nodded slowly, reluctantly, at Jen's affirmative glance.

Jake said, "I haven't heard about a party."

"The track team wasn't invited because of Darrell." Jen replied quickly, rubbing at Blue's nose, when he snuffled her for a treat.

Darrell jumped as Ace nudged him for attention, and he replied, "I'm not on the track team."

"No, because of his stunt." Jen declared. "They had to decide if they wanted to invite Sam or Jake, and well, Sam won."

"Ha!" Sam said, glancing triumphantly at her friend from over a horse's back.

"Really?" Darrell asked. Jake, for all his introversion, was really a big man on campus, for a lack of a better term. He needed to throw them off the trail. Jake hadn't been invited because everyone was afraid of what would happen between him and Sam, as though the fact they'd not changed one bit wasn't evidence enough. Gosh, people could be so dumb.

"Well, yeah. Jen..." Sam began, only to be interrupted hotly by Jen.

"Don't you dare sell yourself short." She gave a treat to Strawberry, "You're cooler than he is."

"Uh huh." Jake grinned. Was Sam staring at his smile? Why would she do that? Even though she was a buddy, she sure did have strange fixations.

"I just look better in a bathing suit." She returned.

"She is cooler than you!" Jen said to Jake, "Your friend messed up everything, thinking there's...Well, it's just crazy. And I'll thank you, Darrell, to shut your gob. You didn't get invited because of your own actions."

"Well, I never." He said, offended that this girl who was supposedly some kind of genius didn't see what was between Sam and Jake.

"You never? Hector invited us to break in his new pool house..."

"What now?" Jake interrupted.

"His new pool house." Jen repeated, "The whole school is talking about it."

Soon, they were called inside, and he couldn't think anymore about that day, as Mrs. Ely was glaring at him. Oh, right, it was his turn to read. Why hadn't he been warned? The fool wasn't earning his fee, it seemed.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Darrell couldn't believe his luck. Just as they were finishing up the morning's work, rain began to fall. It had been drizzling for ages, but it was though God looked down upon him, and Said, "Darrell, now that all your work is done, now, and only now, shall I, The Most High, grant your prayer to get out of it." God had a wicked sense of humor, he supposed.

Quinn and his roommate from college were home visiting, and Darrell got a look at the interactions between Jake and his brothers. Well, brother. He was still amazed by how different, how much more open, Jake could be around his brother. Still yeah, he knew that Jake often felt inferior or less than Quinn in some ways, but it was clear as an empty Tupperware to Darrell that Quinn was in awe of Jake's skill on the ranch.

Tim came out to the barn as they were untacking, as he'd run inside to use the bathroom. "Who's the hot chick in your kitchen?"

Quinn looked taken aback as he dried off Chip. Darrell watched as he said, slowly, "What's she look like?"

"Redhead, short skirt." Tim recalled.

"Gross, man." Quinn shuddered. "Disgusting. You know what? Never say that. Ever." He made retching noises and his horse looked at him as though he were crazy.

Tim glanced at Darrell, "Who is she?"

"Their neighbor." He said, wondering how this was going to play out and why Sam was there.

Quinn replied at the same time, "My sister, you ass."

"She's a damned brat." It was Jake's voice that held the most vehemence. "And she hates it when you call her your sister."

"I'm telling on you, Jakey." Quinn said, "Not likely to get you any points, is it?"

Jake asked, "What'd she say to you?"

"Never saw me." Tim replied, adjusting his baseball cap.

"I doubt that." Darrell snorted. Sam with the wonder senses saw everything, even if she pretended not to.

"Swear." Tim grinned, but Darrell didn't care as to why, when he his stomach rumbled for the 45th time.

"Come on, you freaks." Darell said, "I'm hungry."

"You're always hungry, Darrell." Jake returned.

"Mama's got us on a family diet." He moaned, "I gotta eat." Maybe, if he was a good boy, Sammy would make him something.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Darrell knew Sam was awesome, in a buddy kind of way. She seemed to have a talent that people like his mother did. She could enter a space, and somehow, very quietly, make it hers. Case and point: he lumbered, because, heck, it's fun to lumber, up the steps and stopped short in the doorway. Yep. definitely like his mother. There was food cooking. Real food, and he could smell girly stuff in the air, as well as, was that cornbread? God, he was hungry.

"Sam?" Jake finally got fed up with standing in the doorway, and brushed past him, calling over the ambient sounds of the rain and Sam Cooke playing.

"I'm in the kitchen." She called, turning down the music.

Darrell followed him and the scent of wonderful food, and his mouth dropped open as he saw her. She was wearing Jake's shirt. She was wearing it blatantly, letting it fall past her hips, the buttons done up. The flannel shirt met tiny shorts. His brain shorted. Her hair was wet, and pulled up in a towel in one of those twist things. Her feet were bare. He shook his head, unable to process what was going on.

Jake was speaking, "...my shirt?"

"I like to unbutton them." Sam said, and then blushed. She whispered, "No! Jeez. I mean. I needed a shirt that buttoned."

"Why are you here?" Jake asked. Darrell was too busy staring at the pots bubbling on the stove to read anything into Jake's stance, or Sam's expression. He could smell meat and chili and and and...Food. He was so hungry.

"Now, that's not nice." Quinn said.

"Hey, Quinn." Sam said, "I came over because your mom said you needed someone to check up on you while she and Luke are away."

"You came, Brat, because you've got house guests." Jake said. Why did none of them care about the food, the glorious food? If only Jake would move, he could get to the food, the food, food.

"Maybe." She looked away, catching Tim's gaze, "Oh, hey! I'm Sam Forester."

"Tim Ougden." He nodded. "Quinn's roommate."

"It's nice ot meet you!" Sam said, "Quinn's mentioned you, of course, and I..."

Darrell's gaze froze, and he cut her off with a breathless, "Sam?"

"What?" She asked quizzically.

"Is that cake for us?" He said, gaze glued to the cake dome. There, in all its chocolate glory, stood a cake.

She snorted. "As if."

"Did you make it?" He pleaded, able to detect sarcasm.

She nodded.

"What kind it is?" Darrell begged.

"Uhm. Peanut Butter Chocolate?" She fumbled.

"Out of my way, Elys! Cake!" He called, free from the trance, under the siren song of peanut butter, "Come to Papa."

"Are you high? She didn't make it for you, you loser." Quinn burst forth, blocking his path. "In fact, I see a great big Q written all over it."

"You know what?" He bit out, "Screw you, Quinn. I swear to God." Darrell moaned, "Cake." And looked back into Quinn's heavy gaze, unflinching, "I will hurt you." Darrell said. The glorious cake was in his eyeline. He didn't care if it tasted like cotton, Quinn needed to move the fuck out of his way before this got nasty. He could take Quinn. It would be like a lady lifting a car off their kid to save them. He could do it.

"This is pretty good, Brat." Heads turned like the pea soup girl towards Jake, who was standing next to the cake plate with a plate in his hand and a fork in the other. There was a hunk of cake on said plate, with a bite missing from it.

"You bastard!" Quinn seethed.

Darrell snapped, "You knew I was hungry, and you..."

"Nope." Jake drawled, looking at his brother, "I think you're thinking of Kit, Quinn. Mom and Dad were married when I was born." Darrell saw his gaze flick over Sam. "What's with the getup?"

"I am going to a party." Sam said, "And stop saying your parents..." She shrugged, "It's rude. And not true."

"In my shirt?" Jake ignored her about Kit. Good on him, sticking to the important facts. If only the freak would move so Darrell could get cake. Cake. Cake. Peanut butter-y chocolatey, cake.

"No. If you listened to a damned word I said, I told you..." She made a strangled noise and Darrell's gaze snapped to hers. She was glaring at Jake.

"Sorry." The man in question shrugged, "Cake. Go get dressed."

"I am dressed!" She said, fixing the neckline of the shirt, where it had slid down from draining a pot, he supposed. "Darrell, am I dressed?"

"Sure, Darlin.'" He replied off handedly. Who cared what she was wearing? She was a buddy. Buddies don't have hips and legs. Well, he glanced away, if they did, you sure as heck didn't look.

"I am going to a party, and your parents said I could get ready here. So I am, but I thought the chili was going to burn, so I..." Sam hastened to explain awkwardly, misunderstanding his gaze.

"Chili?" Darrell breathed.

"When was the last time you ate, man?" Tim asked from the seat on the breakfast bar.

Sam sighed, "I'm sorry, Tim. I'm surrounded by idiots. Excluding you, of course."

"Sam!" Jake bit out. Darrell chortled, as her hair fell out of the towel, tumbling down across her shoulders.

"My point has been made." She rose, then, and walked from the room.

Jake relaxed for some reason, having gotten his way. He pulled a Gatorade from the fridge. Quinn said, "Is that the last blue one?" Darrell was munching on his cake, his glorious cake, as they began to speak.

Jake loosened the top, "Nope."

"It is, you fool!" Quinn snarled, reaching for the drink in question.

Jake evaded him calmly, "There's a pink one."

"Nobody but Sam likes the pink ones." His brother pointed out.

Jake was nonplussed, but didn't sip from the drink. "She won't mind if you drink it."

"Are we talking about the same girl?" Quinn asked, then demanded, "Give me the Gatorade!"

"I just worked for hours." Jake grinned, "I'm thirsty."

"I was there, too!" Quinn burbled, "So was Darrell and Tim."

"Were." Jake grinned anew.

"Huh?" Darrell asked.

"So were Darrell and Tim." Tim said, softly.

There was a rejoinder from the stairway, "You're all freaks!"

"Says the girl with soup cans in her hair." Jake mocked. Half of Sam's head was up in huge rollers, and the other half was pinned messily to head with a clip. She did look a bit like an alien.

"Give me the Gatorade. Now." She marched to the cupboard, and took out four glasses. Sam poured the blue liquid of awesomeness into the cups equally. That done, she declared, "There!" And passed the cups around.

Tim grinned, and said, "It sure is different, being around all these siblings."

Darrell agreed with Tim, and grinned. "Atta girl, Sammy. You tell 'em."

"Sam?" Jake said, as she took the glass from his hand and sipped it.

He swiped it back, as she replied, "Yeah?"

"Would you mind tuning your hair into the sports station in Sacramento?" Jake asked, with a slow smile, "There's a game I want to catch." He grinned. That was a good one, Darrell thought, as he followed the others into gales of laughter.

She spluttered. "Sorry, no can do."

Jake swiped his glass back. Quinn asked, "What's with them, anyway?"

"There is a pool party." She sighed, "Therefore, I am..."

Jake sobered, frowning slightly, "Doing that...thing with your hair."

"My hair is not a..thing, Jacob Ely!" Sam spat, "Are you drunk?"

"No." He said, leaning away and coughing dramatically, "I think the spray has gone to your brain."

Tim tugged at his curls. "It's hard to straighten. We've got to stick together."

"For your information, my hair is not curly." She said, kindly, "Don't let the cornbread burn."

"Why didn't you use that iron thingy?" Jake mused, staring at his empty glass forlornly. Darrell wondered what the heck he was talking about.

"Thingy?" Sam called as she tramped up the steps, "Because I forgot it."

With that, they men settled to the uniquely male pastime of complaining about the weather and eating cake.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"What are you doing?" Jake demanded, as Sam came down the steps and hopped up on the counter.

"Clearly, I am getting my nail polish." She said, kneeling to reach the top shelf of a cupboard, "I had to hide it."

"That was the greatest prank ever!" Quinn mused, "Brian looked horrible, what with Party Princess Pink all over his face." Quinn snorted wildly.

"So Max put it up for me." Sam said.

"In the spice cupboard?" Jake asked.

She was digging around, and muttered absently, "Uh huh..."

She tried to hop down, as easily as she'd hopped up, but Jake's hands lifted her up, and down, as though...Well, Darrell didn't know. She landed with her back to him, and Jake leaned down to whisper something about something. Darned mumblers were messing with his research.

"So." Sam said, after they waxed rhapsodic ("I'm Just a Poor Boy!" Darrell's mind sang) about the Greatest Pranks in All Elydom, "Gunmetal or Death?"

"Sam." Darrell said, "You are a Goddess. Soul music, flannel, and black nails. I was damn wrong, trying to fix you up. Marry me instead."

"Don't even joke about it." She sat down across from Tim at the table, "You'll get hives."

"Sam, Sam, Sam, think of all the fun we could have!" He implored.

"Yeah, but I'm in a committed relationship." She said.

"You are?" Quinn speculated, glancing at his brother, who rolled his eyes in return.

"Duncan and I are very happy." Sam said, opening the bottle.

"Where's he this week, Sam, on Reading Rainbow?" Jake asked.

"For your information, he's doing NGO work in Africa. He's also bringing me back some conflict free diamonds." She snapped primly, doing her left hand with skill.

Jake threw a paper plate at her, "You don't like diamonds."

"Try telling poor Duncan Lucas Leventhal-Yancy that." She placed her other hand on the plate, and picked up the brush with her painted hand, "He's so good to me."

"Uh huh." Jake said. He took the brush from her, and slid her hand on the plate closer to him. Quinn rolled his eyes, and Tim grinned. "My cousin can't paint her dominate hand, either. I should give Riley a plate, too."

"It's not because she can't do it." Quinn grinned, "She's just afraid to get polish on Mom's table."

"Why?" Darrell asked.

"Oh, because the girls that land an Ely man get something as gift for their engagement. Some traditional piece of something, as a 'Look at me, I can give you shit, aren't you glad you picked me, yo?' item."

"Quinn!" Sam admonished him for his language, and his attitude. "Your mom was smart to pick the table, with how much you eat."

"We're growing boys, Sammy. Sides, would you rather she asked for a bed?" Quinn grimaced.

"It would be symbolic." Sam said, but Darrell could see she was just messing with Quinn. "You know. Of..."

"Sammy, our parents do not..." Quinn began and Jake agreed.

"Brat, just shush. Nobody wants to hear it."

"Well, I like that!" She grinned, "You missed a spot on my thumb."

"This is crazy." Jake snapped, "Jen cannot have insisted you mutilate yourself."

"She did, actually." Sam said, sadly, "She's big into this whole thing right now, I guess. I'm being supportive. I even let her pair me with Deetz, you know, and you know how he is... And anyway, I refuse to talk about this. It's not mutilation."

"Says you." Jake returned.

"Paired with Deetz?" Darrell asked. Deetz was a good friend, but a friend for Sammy? At a pool party?

"You know how high school parties are..." Tim said. "Noah's Ark."

"Oh, come on." Sam said, catching Jake's expression. "Duncan trusts me."

"He shouldn't trust Deetz." Jake said, meeting her eyes. Darrell looked away.

He said, "Man's a player, honey..."

"Duncan said that I..." Sam began.

"Seems he always has something useful to say..." Quinn interrupted.

"He does! Why, just this week, he said to me, he said, "Samantha Anne, you're just the loveliest thing I ever did see..." She sighed, "Of course, then I had to tell him I wasn't a thing, but that the sentiment was duly noted."

"Oh, so a cousin of Scarlett O'Hara?" Jake laughed, finishing her hand.

"No, but he is very wordy." She said, almost as though she were breathless from the lie as Jake left go of her wrist, where he'd gripped it and turned it over, almost as though his thumb was ghosting over her heartbeat. Darrell smiled. Jake was right. She couldn't lie for anything.

"Seems to me, Sam..." Tim began, "That'd it be better to be Safe than Sally."

"Huh?" Sam asked, as Quinn and fell over on him in laughter. Darrell got the joke, a play on her initials, and about died with envy.

"Sure." Sam pouted, "Laugh when I don't get the joke."

"Forget it, Brat." Jake said, "Darrell's just angry because he didn't think of it."

Oh..." With a confused glance, she retreated to the upstairs again. Jake threw the paper plate at him for laughing.

"We'll just...have to put that..." Darrell wheezed, "Put that in the notebook."

"Fuck you, Darrell." Jake replied calmly. He got up, and put on water to boil for rice or something, Darrell supposed.

After a while of chit chat, mostly Quinn and Tim talking about school and Jake and Darrell and Quinn telling a confused Tim about the ranch, Jake called up the stairs, "Hey Sputnik! Dinner!"

"I'm not eating." Sam replied.

"Sam, Jeez." Jake returned, "Finish whatever it is you're doing to yourself, now."

"Yeah!" Darrell called, "I'm dying of hunger, woman!"

"Sammy!" Quinn begged, "I'd be grateful to you if you'd referee the idiots for dinner."

Sam stomped down the steps. Darrell about swallowed his tongue. Quinn, though, was quicker on the uptake. "What's that, Sammy?"

"A dress." Sam said, moving to the cupboard in a nimbus of not-very-Sam-like smelling flower stuff.

"Made of what?" He asked, accepting the forks that Quinn handed him.

"God. What's this interest in my clothes?" She flicked a glance over them as she got plates down. "They won't fit you."

"Sam." Jake warned from where he was draining rice.

"What?" She asked softly, "Too much?" She asked, tossing her straightened hair over her shoulder and began to set the table. The dress she was wearing was one of those wrap things his mom liked. But, his mind conceded, Sam didn't look a thing like Mama. Her dress rested softly on the tops of her knees, and the light blue and black print made her look soft, somehow.

"Not enough, if you ask me." Jake mumbled, digging out the cornbread from the pan. Darrell could see where his gaze had fallen on the soft jersey dress.

"I'm sorry." She said, "I don't speak mumble."

"I said," Jake lied, as he sat down "It's too cold to wear that out. You should put on something."

"The pool is indoors and the print goes with my suit." She said. Darrell heard her whisper, "Jake the Jerk." Under her breath and evidently, Jake heard it too, because his gaze tightened.

Tim interrupted, "Let's eat, y'all!" With that, the jovial man passed the water.

Darrell finally got his bowl of chili and a hunk of cornbread. Tim continued after a time, "Sam. I gotta say, this is great."

"Thanks." She said, softly, eating her own chili.

"You're nothing like Quinn said you were, though." Tim said conversationally.

Darrell cringed inwardly as Sam asked, "Really?"

"Yeah, totally. He said you were, like, this total tomboy who was always knee deep in some trouble or other, and that you usually dragged Jake into it."

Sam grinned fondly, "He gets a day off once in a while."

"No, I mean." Darrell began to pray. This totally didn't sound so great. "I mean, you're like a girl. You know, with the way Quinn talked... I was sort of expecting..."

"What?" Sam asked, curiously.

"Nothing. I just..." Tim shrugged, but he'd already tipped Sam off as to his point. Darrell counted the seconds. He was going to get it, just like that time Deetz did, and the time that boy, Ally's cousin, he forgot his name, did.

"Oh, I see." Sam said, calmly, assentingly, "I'm confusing your binary interpertation of gender, right? Like, either I'm a skilled rancher or I'm a good cook? Or, you know, like I can be hardworking or I can paint my nails? It's like that, right?"

"Sam." Jake soothed, even as he glared at Tim, "He was only complimenting you."

"Right. I was." Tim hastened, "I'm sorry."

"No, don't be." Sam passed him the bread basket for another square of cornbread, "I must have misunderstood you."

"Yeah, Sammy." Darrell said, "Don't you worry. You won't loose your Bro status over a little hairspray."

"I shouldn't with how much gel you use, Quinn." She added.

Quinn fluffed his spikes, "That's mean, Sam."

"Nu-uh." She said, "The truth is true."

"Only when the moon is blue." Quinn laughed.

"Yeah, well." Jake said, "How's school?"

Once the subject changed, the meal passed quickly. It was glorious and the meal passed in relative ease. After a time, Tim excused himself to go call his mom. Jake, oddly enough, was the one to break the silence, "What's your deal, Brat?"

"Haven't got a deal." She said, biting into her bread.

"Bull. Sam. You've been..." Jake began.

Quinn cut him off. "Let her be, Jake."

"Quinn!" Sam wailed, "Seriously. I'm fine." A slow grin spread over her face. "Hey, you're all guys, right?"

Darrell gaped. What did she have planned? He wasn't into spilling his feelings or serving a a male lab rat for her. That was Jake's area. "Whatever." She rolled her eyes as his cow eyed glance. "So look. I have this friend..."

"Sammy, if you and Jakey are having troubles, don't bring us into it." Quinn said. "But I'll be in the barn later; for no reason, you can come find me."

"Shut up." Sam said, softly, "It's not me. It's Jen."

"Gossiping does no good, Brat." Jake said.

She nodded, "Fine, I'll just email Duncan about it. He'll help me figure out if it's normal to spend all your free time with a guy."

"Sam, you sort of do that..." Quinn tried. Darrell, for his part, didn't get what was going on. What was Sam talking about?

"No, not like this. She doesn't want me around anymore." Sam said, sadly, "It's Ryan this and Ryan that and Ryan said and Ryan thinks and Ryan Ryan Ryan. I'm never like that."

"You sure?" Quinn asked, humor clear in his tone.

"I think she's being serious." Darrell mused. Suddenly, he got it. Jen wasn't around as much because she was dating. Because she'd spent half her life aware, on some level, about the uniqueness of her relationship with Jake, Sam didn't understand being infatuated, not really, and wsa confusing Jen's focus on Ryan for rejection.

"Yeah, I am." Sam nodded. "Thanks Darrell."

"You feel left out, Brat." Jake murmured, "It's okay."

"No, I'm not left out. Not really, because..." She sighed, "I don't have that desire, you know, to go all gaga over somebody, but I do wonder why he's more important."

"It's a phase, honey." Quinn said, "Once she realizes he'll stick around, the whole chasing after him, glued at the hip thing'll stop." He eyed his younger brother's best friend, "Maybe."

"Really?" Sam brightened.

"Totally. Remember when you were nine, and you thought Jake was going to be doing something really cool, and you were going to miss it if you weren't right there? It's like that, Sammy, only a bit different, I guess." Quinn tried.

Sam was cut off by the phone ringing. She rose to get it, and Darrell watched her face fall after a moment. "Sure, Jen, I understand."

Sam twisted the cord around her finger. No, no you guys have fun. Yeah, I sure am glad I don't have to go after all." She removed the mouthpiece from her face for a second a sighed, "No, I really don't mind. Bet the movie'll be fun."

She touched her soft hair, and Darrell saw her hands flutter to her new dress. "Jen, don't be crazy. Would I spend ages getting ready for a silly party?"

Her laughter was hallow. Darrell saw Jake's gaze harden as he got what was going on. Jake muttered something, the mumbler. There was no room for mumbling in his calculations!

Sam added, "No, I swear it's not a big deal. Maybe...I'm going to go, Jen. I, uh, hear...Quinn calling me. Yes, we'll find something to do, I'm sure."

Sam pulled the phone away and make sure it was still working as she asked, "Jen? Jen?"

After a moment, she finally heard something and said, "Oh, no problem. Bye, then."

"Brat?" The second the phone was in the cradle, Jake was there.

"Don't worry about it." She shrugged off his touch, "I'm going home."

"Sam..." Darrell began.

"I said it wasn't a problem." She said, tonelessly. In that moment, he realized something. Sam was very much a girl. A girl in a pretty dress with no place to go, stood up, however indirectly. That shit wasn't right, and he felt a flare of anger towards Jen's blindness.

"Sam." Jake said, "Go get your coat."

"What?" Sam blubbered. "I don't want to go out. I want to go to bed."

"Sam, come on." It was barely after lunchtime, after all, "It'll be fun." Jake wheedled, having a silent conversation with his brother. How on earth did they do it?

"Ages since we played in the mud." Quinn added. "Ages."

"You're serious?" Sam's expression brightened.

"As shootin' honey. Come on! Mud time." Quinn's voice rose, "Timmy! We're going mudding! Come on!"

Darrell grinned as the mood changed. Sam grinned as she tugged at her dress, and hurried to rinse the dishes. Quinn said, "Do 'em later, come on, come on." He was brimming with joy, and even Jake was smiling widely as he left the room, "Shoes, clothes. Coat. Chop Chop" Darrell grinned, as Quinn flopped down on the bench, "Wow. I feel like Mom."

Quinn puffed up as Sam bolted around, calling, "Jake, can I borrow your Ramones t-shirt?"

"No." The reply floated down the stairs after a second.

She smiled, "Well, I had to try." She emerged from the downstairs bathroom a moment later, dressed in her own jeans and top. She called, "Jake, where are my sneakers?"

"The blue ones?" He called. Darrell rolled his eyes. June and Ward were at it again.

"No!" She replied, "The old white ones."

"I don't know; wear your boots." Still, when he came into the room, he tossed a pair of old sneakers at her. What had they been doing in his room?

"Daddy'd kill me!" She grinned, as she pulled off the dress shoes she'd been wearing. The party girl was fading away, and Sammy girl was back.

"You're already grounded." Jake reminded her as he went to the coat closet.

"Whatever." She said.

Jake held up Sam's coat, and she slipped into it, flipping her hair over her shoulder. She said, "Got a hairtie?"

"Nope." He said, "Guess you'll just get all muddy and wash it."

"Brynna wants to keratin my hair. I just might let her."

"Come on!" Quinn whined, "Stop sniping, and let's go!"

"Shut up Quinn!" They said in unison, and Darrell grinned.

"I'm telling Mom." Quinn declared .

"Who cares?" Sam added, fishing a hairtie out of her pocket, "I'm her favorite."

"Is she really?" Tim asked, coming into the room.

"Totally." Darrell replied. "Even been mudding?"

Tim shook his head, and Darrell said, "It's a heck of a lot of fun. Come on."

The rain had stopped, but the ground was soggy. It was perfect for mudding, given that they'd thawed out weeks ago, but still were getting early spring rain. Darrell said, "Who's getting Frankie? Tim or me?"

At the door to the barn, Tim spoke, "Uh, guys..."

Quinn asked, "Yeah?"

"I can't...ride." He said.

"Well, you can learn, right?" Quinn asked.

"I don't like horses." He said.

"What kind of person are you?" Sam blurted, shocked. Darrell snorted.

"Brat, you don't just go around asking people that." Jake corrected, though Darrell knew that he agreed with her.

"What? It's true! How do you...do anything?" Sam mused. "Wow. Double wow."

"What?" Tim asked.

Darrell intervened, "She just never thought her femininity would be questioned by a man who can't ride."

"Darrell, you jackass!" She swore as the other three walked towards the garage, "That's not what I meant at all. It's just I..." She frowned, "Guess it's my turn to apologize to you."

"It's alright." He said, walking along with her, "You've got ideas about what a guy should be able to do."

Sam frowned, "Yeah. I guess so." She continued after a moment of thought, "I'm sorry."

"It's arlight. We're good."

"Good! Come on, then!" She ran forward, past Darrell and Tim, calling, "Jake, I want Seth's quad!"

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

They rode out, towards the secret place everyone knew about. It was an area that had been turned into grass at one point, and then left fallow. The area, in the intervening years, had been made perfect for mudding by Jake's brothers. The quads kicked up the mud, and it was heaven. Darrell felt the air in his face, finally free of the rain, and laughed with joy as he sped over the tiny hills that made their topography look deceptively flat.

Behind him, someone cut their engine. Quinn's voice called out, "Hey, Jake! You're it!" Darrell swiveled around to see a loud splat of mud hit Jake in the face. Quinn pointed to Sam, and she took off running. Sadly, she didn't have the grip in sneakers that she did in her boots, and she tumbled face first into the mud. Turning over, she stood up quickly, just in time for Jake to fling mud at her by running his tires.

She frowned, and made a beeline for Quinn. In the meantime, Jake had made his way on foot around her to throw himself at her. She evaded capture, and ran quickly and deftly through the mud towards Quinn's new spot on the sidelines, who was obviously base. Finally, she winked at Darrell, and stood stock still. Jake, unable to slow his momentum or turn so as to crash into Quinn who was by now, also on foot, slammed into Sam. Darrell laughed as he wrapped his arms around her as they went down into the mud, one at her waist, the other on the back of her head. Darrell realized that this was so she didn't hit her head. Damn, he needed to talk to her.

Nevertheless, his mind focused as he saw something he never thought he would. Jake made move to get off of Sam, as she was now "it" but she threw a leg over his and as he turned to move, used their momentum to leverage herself into the roll, meaning that she ended up sitting above him, straddling his body. The air crackled as she she placed both her hands on his chest and said, "You're it!"

Darrell sucked in lungful of air. There was mud. There was a chick. There was a dude. There was mud. There was Jake, who loved Sam. There was Sam, who loved Jake. They were in a mildly, okay, well, super suggestive position. He felt like Sebastian the Crab. His mind was screaming, "Kiss, already! Do it now! Now!" But, of course, they didn't. Sam looked down at Jake, and Jake looked up at Sam and they burst into laughter.

"Really?" Jake asked as her head dropped into the crook of his neck, "Damn."

"Ten more seconds and it'll be a personal foul!" Quinn called, "Get off him, Sam, or do your time!"

She laughed, breaking away from Jake's gaze, "Fine, fine!" She pulled herself to standing. "Tag's more fun with more people." Finding Darrell on the sidelines, she called, "Why aren't you playing?"

"That was a game?" He cried, aghast, unable to process her earlier comment to Quinn.

Jake had stood by then, mud dripping off of him. He nodded, "Of course."

Quinn added at a whisper, "The Ely version of tag. Mud is required. Denial is, as always, optional." He added in a normal tone, "I think you guys suck."

With those words out of his mouth, both Jake and Sam grabbed him easily and knocked him over into the mud. He slipslided, getting messier and messier as he finally found tera firma. Sam laughed uproariously, "Who sucks now, Macquinn?"

"Not me, Brat." Jake replied.

"Not me, either." She agreed. "God, and people say we're idiots." She looked down at Quinn, "You didn't even try to run."

"You're mean, Sam!" Quinn spat, removing mud from his eyes.

"My daddy says I'm wonderful." She quipped, running across the mud. "Hey, Darrell! Look out!" With that, mud hit him square in the back. He turned to find Tim grinning at him.

Darrell grinned. Well, Sam had been a buddy. She had tried to warn him. And yet, she was definitely a girl, with a woman's feelings and understanding of the world, and she was a friend. Who knew? He officially had a friend who was a girl.

Maybe, soon, he'd get to talk to her, and Hugh would get off his back.

Then, finally, he could figure out how to get them where they needed to be. He mentally crossed an idea off his notebook list. Mud did not work. He'd have to try the closet. Well, tomorrow was another day. Another day, another plan.

All would be well in the end. He could feel it, just as he could feel the mud in his hair.

**Not very funny, not very good. However, for what it's worth, here's to cats that read stories at one in the morning, and to all the rest of you readers. I'm publishing this early because I've kept you waiting a long time and I appreciate you guys, more than I can ever say.**

**Edited because there's only one fandom wherein seriously is spelled Seriusly. I made a ton of spelling errors, and my honor as a scholar demanded I fix them. No content was changed. **


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